The Seafarer's Wife
by CrashingPetals
Summary: District 4 is an entirely new world, but with Finnick by her side, Sil is eager to make it her new home. A glimpse into Sil and Finnick's life as they begin to settle down. Sequel to The Sterling Nightingale. Finnick/OC
1. Sailor, stop your roaming

Welcome to the sequel of The Sterling Nightingale! The epilogue has left us with Sil and Finnick boarding the train that will take them to District 4 to begin their lives together. Now, we will be exploring that life. I hope you all enjoy :)

Just to forewarn everyone: there will be multiple smutty scenes in this sequel.

* * *

**Chapter One | Sailor, stop your roaming**

District 4 is bustling. Sil has not met everyone in this district, nor does she expect to be on first name basis with every citizen here, but apparently your personal relationship with the occupants of this town does not matter when there is a celebration taking place, even if that celebration is in your honor.

She's gotten fairly used to the way things operate here. The open, friendly demeanor of the people are vastly different compared to what she is used to. In District 1, people keep to themselves. The city is far too sprawling and populated to be aware of everything that goes on with the neighbor's friend's cousins who live five blocks away. Not so here. Everyone knows everybody by name. And – everyone gets in involved whenever a wedding is held. It's almost as if the entire district stops running for a few days. People are eager for the chance to celebrate, and everyone knows who the bride and groom is. Complete strangers nod to her in the street whenever she leaves the cottage, sometimes stopping her to ask how the plans are evolving. Sil is always taken aback whenever this happens, though Finnick assures her that it's completely normal.

"It's a community," he tells her one night as they dress for bed. "And everyone loves a good party."

She can accept that. It's only that her idea of a wedding feast is vastly different from what everyone seems to be expecting. It surely doesn't last three whole days, and the honeymoon isn't supposed to be shared between the bridal pair and the entire district, interrupted by feasts and dancing that stretch on for weeks afterwards. She comes to the conclusion that the people here would do just about anything to sit back and celebrate. She doubts they'd even care what they were celebrating.

Sil huffs lightly as she walks passed a gathering of dock workers and merchants who have joined forces to construct the wedding bough that Finnick and her will stand under in only a few days. It looks like they're tipsy as they laughingly heave the structure into place. A few of the merchants stand back and loudly toss orders into the wind, voices peppered with such foul language that Sil nearly cringes. There's a bottle of some kind of alcohol propped up in the sand nearby. The unmarked bottle tells Sil that it's probably some of the homemade stuff that gets passed around the district like liquid gold.

She can huff at their antics all she likes, but in truth she finds these people rather endearing, in a strange way that she can't explain. This is not the polite socialite world of her youth. The people here do not fit into any generalization she has ever constructed, and sometimes she feels out of her depth in this new world. In many ways it is harsher and rougher than the one she's come from, and yet she finds herself falling for this district just as surely as ever. The people here love fiercely. Their loyalty is as strong as the oddly endearing way their children learn to curse before they can walk.

Her eyes hone in on one of the merchants in particular, and Sil makes a beeline for the beach. In the back of her mind, she thinks that the wedding will be nothing short of picturesque here on this stretch of sand with the ocean as their backdrop. However, her love of organization is not the reason she cuts across the sand with purposeful strides. The moment the men see her, they call out with loud, crass voices, greeting her in the very same rough-cut manner that Sil has grown somewhat accustomed to during her short reprieve here.

"What're you doing here, love?" one of the sailors asks, releasing his hold on the bough for a moment and getting a kick in the shin for the move as the whole thing begins to teeter backwards.

"She's here to reward us for our efforts!" one of them cackles. "A kiss for my labor, my sweet – gah!"

He gets shoved into the sand by another sailor, sprawling out over the beach with a hazy, drunken look in his eyes that makes Sil sigh. The sailor cusses something particularly foul at him and says, "Don't talk to the bride that way, you lecher. I've seen the way she punches."

Rolling her eyes, Sil turns to the nearest merchant and asks, "Is everything all set up?" She is not talking about the bough, but of something else entirely.

The man, an older fellow with greying hair and a cheerful dimpling face, chuckles, "As good as it's gonna get, missus. Everything's in working order at least. You'll 'ave to pretty it up a bit, but you'll have all the necessities."

A large smile splits across Sil's face. The men immediately shuffle in line, ogling the beaming way Sil stands there, hands on hips as she nods. There's something different about her, these days. Something far less orderly and far more relaxed. One of the sailors nudges another and loudly whispers, "She's gonna be holed up with Finn for days, doing unnatural things to him – "

"Unnatural?!" Sil exclaims, thoroughly amused by the word. "The only unnatural thing he's going to experience is the utter exhaustion that comes from not sleeping for several weeks."

The sentence makes the entire group loudly break into guffawing laughter as they suggestively eye each other, eyebrows waggling. One of them comes over to give Sil a smirk and offer her a drink from the bottle. She looks at it for a moment, then grabs the neck and tips in up, taking a generous sip. The men seem to love that, because they laugh uproariously.

As she swallows the homemade liquor, Sil loudly calls, "You had better not tell Finnick about any of this. It's a surprise."

The men snicker. One of them chuckles, "Our lips are sealed, love. For now."

That last addition makes Sil narrow her eyes. She glances at the merchant who helped her and haughtily asks, "What's the supposed to mean?"

He smiles widely and pats her on the back. "Oh, they'll keep your secret. Just make sure you lock the doors on yer wedding night unless you want shenanigans." The horrified look that enters Sil's face makes him laugh loudly and add, "It's tradition!"

Sil barks out a humorless laugh and grumbles, "Tradition! Honestly."

She storms off muttering to herself about this so-called tradition, ignoring the jeering laughter of the men behind her. This place will be the death of her.

* * *

"I've heard about not seeing the groom on the _day_ of the wedding, but I didn't realize you people took it so seriously," Sil grumbles later on as she sits in Annie's kitchen and watches the very pregnant woman teeter around the counter, pushing a glass of water towards Sil. Annie laughs aloud at the petulant tone that Sil's voice takes on. Her eyes sparkle at her, glowing with happiness. She looks incredibly light despite being almost due. She's only got a month or so left of her term.

With a chortle, Annie responds, "It's – "

"Tradition, yes, I know," Sil rolls her eyes, stuck between being amused at the superstitious quality of life here and aggravated that she hasn't seen Finnick for more than a few minutes at a time these last few days. The wedding is several more days off and this so-called tradition is making Sil antsy.

Annie shrugs, smiling widely at Sil. "I'm sure it all sounds very silly to you, but we take our traditions very seriously around here. Besides – just imagine finally spending the night with him after all this separation. I'm sure it'll be incredible."

A few months ago, Sil might've blushed at that, or at the very least, she'd be a little uncomfortable talking about her sex life in casual conversation. Maybe it's the kind, unassuming way that Annie navigates the topic, but Sil's reaction this time is to groan and shake her head, not feeling embarrassed at all.

"Technically, we're already married," she points out with a grumble.

It's true, in a legal sense. Annie hums, "Yes, but that was something you were both forced into. Those vows don't really mean anything, don't you agree? This time around, they will."

Sil frowns petulantly and mumbles, "But why does Finnick have to stay at his house in the Victor's Village for a whole week?!"

The childish way the complaint leaves her lips makes Annie laugh loudly, snickering to herself at Sil's expense. Sil glowers at her. This is turning into a real issue to Sil, after all. This damned tradition is a form of torture. Not only is she unable to sleep by his side, but she can't even see him during the daylit hours. Between their work schedules and last-minute planning for the wedding, they already don't have much time together, and this silly tradition drags them apart the moment they have a spare minute. She's never heard of a tradition that separates the bride and groom for a whole week before the wedding. She's got no idea how it could possibly be beneficial.

"Well, you don't have to follow it to the letter, you know," Annie says suggestively, sending her an indelicate smile that is full of innuendo and laughter. Her voice takes on a conspiratorial tone when she leans in and murmurs, "You could always sneak over to the Victor's Village tonight and have your way with him – "

"Annie!" Sil interrupts, half mortified and half amused. Over the last few months, she's gotten to know Annie much better than she'd ever thought possible. The two of them have become faster friends than Sil had expected, and Annie's mind is far more redolent than she had anticipated for such a seemingly quiet woman. Sil laughs into her hand, trying to muffle her chortles, and says, "What a positively indecent thing to say! If anyone should be doing the sneaking, it should be _him."_

Annie bites her lip and chuckles, "I think you like the idea of taking him off guard a lot more than you're showing." She eyes Sil with a knowing look, and Sil purses her lips to prevent a smirk from spreading over her face.

Huffing dramatically, Sil quips, "I shan't be doing any _sneaking_. Those days are over."

The reminder of her role as the Sterling Nightingale makes Annie's eyes light up thoughtfully. Sil studies her expression. She knows that look. It's a look that she's learned to be wary of, because it usually bodes some sort of mischief that oftentimes takes Sil by surprise. On the outside, Annie doesn't look like she's got a mischievous bone in her body, but that isn't entirely true. She assumes it's Finnick's influence. Being friends with him since childhood must have rubbed off somehow.

"What are you thinking?" Sil asks, not really sure she wants to know.

Annie smirks. "Oh nothing. Just wondering if you've still got that black outfit you wore around the President's mansion after we won the war. Finnick couldn't keep his eyes off your butt whenever you turned around."

To her horror, Sil feels her cheeks redden at the implications of Annie's suggestive words. She remembers that outfit too – tight, black, with leather padding at the knees, shoulders, and chest – but she doesn't recall Finnick's wayward attention to it. She stares at Annie speechlessly and Annie laughs loudly at the expression.

"Well? Do you still have it?" she prompts, lips curling up with far more mischief than Sil expects to see.

She splutters, "I – well yes. Somewhere."

Despite living in District 4 for about six months now, she still doesn't have all her belongings figured out. There are a few things back in District 1 that she's been meaning to collect, but it hasn't been the first thing on her mind. As for her clothes, though, she vaguely remembers shoving that outfit into her duffle bag when she had moved all her things out of her Capitol apartment some months prior.

Annie's smile is downright shameless when she shrugs, "You should consider digging it out of your closet. I bet Finnick would defy every single tradition keeping you apart if you showed up in his bedroom wearing it."

Sil stares at her for a very long minute, caught between amusement and embarrassment, until she haltingly says, "I never knew you were so coy, darling."

Annie's smile widens. "Just don't let anyone see you going over there or you'll never be free of the embarrassment. They'll never let you live it down."

Apparently it's fairly common, breaking the tradition, which Annie tells her as the two women start preparing dinner together. Since Sil is so new to the atmosphere here, she doesn't know how to conduct herself concerning this sort of thing. Annie assures her that nearly every couple sneaks around before their wedding. In fact, it's almost a game. If anyone happens to catch them, the laughing jeers and jokes at their expense lasts for ages afterwards. The trick, Annie tells her, is to not get caught. Sil thinks it's a rather horrifying game. The high-class part of her would never even consider it…but another part of her has to admit that the thought of partaking in this wayward act seems rather fun. She's the Sterling Nightingale, after all. If anyone is up to the task, it's her.

She finds the outfit pressed into the furthest corner of the closet in the seaside cottage that Finnick and her now share, though the man in question is not currently staying at the house. He's been living at his home in the Victor's Village for the last few days until this silly tradition wears off and they can finally be reunited in all the ways a married couple would be. The cottage feels empty without him in it, as it has for the last few nights, but tonight Sil does not grumble about it or idle in the empty rooms or wallow in bed and wish she could be in his arms. She's got other plans tonight.

The black outfit fits like a glove when she pulls it on after taking a quick shower. Normally she would have worn something underneath it to ensure that it doesn't chaff, but…the normal rules do not apply tonight. She zips it up only part of the way, studying herself in the mirror as she turns to and fro. With her hair unstyled and waving over her shoulders and the dark lipstick she's wearing, she looks downright sinful, especially with the ample amount of cleavage currently on display, peeking through the black suit.

"Gracious," she murmurs, not used to seeing herself like this. She can't recall ever making such an effort before, not like this. Certainly not with her Nightingale gear, as if the articles of her old life are now little more than party tricks. And yet, in a way, that's exactly what they are. She isn't the Sterling Nightingale anymore, not really. That role is over. She might as well give this suit a little more use, right?

Right. She can do this. She's not afraid of seducing Finnick. They've been together more times than she can count. It's just that she's never looked so wanton or shameless before. It's a little fun, and a little unnerving at the same time. Swallowing a wave of nervousness that Sil feels is probably misplaced, she swings up her ammunition belt and tightens it around her hips. She might as well look the part, even though she won't be bringing anything that would use the ammo. Then, before she can talk herself out of this frankly ridiculous idea, Sil flicks the lights off and starts towards the Victor's Village.

Gracious, but she must be insane. She's never done anything like this before. Finnick will probably think she's acting so shameless – and he'll probably love that, granted, but it still makes her nervous. She keeps to the shadows as much as possible, blending into the street corners and ducking between buildings whenever possible as she navigates around any potential problems. Thankfully, the Victor's Village isn't so very far away, and she slips between the gates before anyone catches wind of her or detects her dark figure in the night. The mortification she'd feel at being caught certainly motivates her into being as silent as possible.

Finnick is just exiting the shower when he sees her. His startled reaction would be hilarious, had Sil been particularly disposed towards humor at this moment. As it is, she's slightly distracted at the sight he makes with his towel slung low around his hips, his broad chest on full display as the soft light of the room turns his skin to bronze. As for Finnick, _he's_ slightly distracted by the fact that his morally upright, elegant, high-class lover is half suspended on the windowsill of his bedroom, wearing an outfit that should frankly be outlawed.

"…Finnick," she drawls as way of greeting, head tilted back to rest against the edge of the windowsill. She watches him scan her figure and suppresses a heavy shiver when she sees the gathering hunger in his gaze.

As always, Finnick navigates sensuality like it's the easiest thing on the planet. He calmly turns to her, lips pulled back into a curious smile as he takes in the sight of her, and slowly asks, "Did you climb up my balcony like some roguish version of Romeo? Am I to be your Juliet tonight?"

The lighthearted question makes the last of her nerves dissipate like falling rain. She hums in amusement and haughtily returns, "Heavens, no. I walked through your front door. I just got my nails done, darling."

She flashes them at him with a simper and watches him swallow tightly. He's clearly more affected by her sudden presence than he outwardly shows. She's not blind to the way he studies her, eyes lingering on the ample cleavage on display. With a purr, Sil swings her leg over the windowsill and stands up, unfolding herself slowly as he peruses her body.

"Annie informed me that it's common to break this ridiculous tradition," she murmurs, approaching him with dark eyes. When she's only a foot away from him, she tilts her head and breathes, "What do _you_ think, Finnick darling?"

She catches his eye boldly and reaches out to press her palm against his abdomen. His muscles immediately flex, body taut as he closely watches the way she steps around him, dragging her hand over the jut of his hip. Her touch is liberal, fingers smoothing over his back, his shoulder blades, his neck – until he turns to face her with eyes that are so dark that the sea green coloring of them seems almost nonexistent.

"…I think I should probably thank her," he says lowly. His voice is still calm, but there's a current beneath his words; an inexplicable weight that drags his tone into something resembling a storm. She quite likes the sound of it.

Sil gives him a vivid smirk that makes him visibly twitch, body shifting abruptly as if a spike of adrenaline shoots through his veins. Her eyes dip over his body like she's seeing him for the first time, lingering on the edge of his towel. As her fingers dart down to trace his skin just above it, she murmurs, "This is a good look on you, but I think we can do better."

She hooks her fingers into the towel, only for Finnick to capture them before she can do permanent damage to his present state of dress. Darting her eyes up to his, she raises a challenging eyebrow.

He chuckles, glances down at her, and says, "That's a good look on you, too, sugar. Very imaginative." He smirks, eyeing the swell of her breasts against the partially unzipped fabric. He looks like he wants to reach out to touch her, but he doesn't. He is content to take her in for now. It's not every day that he gets to witness such a tantalizing sight. Sil, who is always so exquisitely dressed no matter the occasion, wearing something so scandalous? It's as if she's walked right out of his dirtiest fantasy.

She raises her chin, eyes flashing, and quips, "You're stalling. Take this off." She pulls at the towel again, but he clenches her fingers down with a calm exhalation.

"If I take this off, I'll be at a distinct disadvantage," he responds, mouth upturned in amusement. Her impatience is lovely against the backdrop of the sensual atmosphere she has so effortlessly cultivated. He's rather addicted to it.

She scoffs, "You've always been at a disadvantage, my love. You're simply too prideful to admit it."

She steps closer, pressing her body into his. The feel of her warmth, coupled with the soft shift of leather, is intoxicating. Finnick takes a deep breath and slowly drawls, "Are you trying to give me a heart attack, sugar?"

She laughs at that, dragging her hands over his chest. She can feel the beat of his heart against his skin. The quick pulse makes her smirk. She leans closer to kiss his collar, scrapping her teeth over his skin and enjoying the way he immediately clenches his hands around her hips, drawing her closer with one forceful pull.

"That wasn't my intention," she whispers into his neck, licking her way over his adam's apple on her quest to reach his mouth. She feels him swallow and moans lightly against him, knowing that the sound will further test his self-control, which is far more arousing than she cares to admit at this moment.

Pulling away to catch his eye, Sil lowly tells him, "I'm far more interested in seducing you. Is it working?" The question is needless and rhetorical. She knows it's working. She can see the hunger plain as day on his face, and if that isn't enough, she can feel the hard press of his erection through his towel.

He exhales heavily and says in a strained voice, "That's funny. Usually I'm the one doing the seducing."

Her eyes flash. With an upturned smile, Sil chuckles and drawls, "You are very good at seducing me, my love, but…" she kisses his jaw, biting it gently and whispering, "tonight you're dealing with the Sterling Nightingale, which rather changes the game a little, don't you agree?"

He groans, fingers digging into the leather around her hips, and tightly says, "This is basically my filthiest daydream coming true. You do know that, don't you?"

Sil gives him a wolfish smile that doesn't seem to help his state of mind in the least, and draws back to tell him, "Oh, I know. You're not so difficult to read, Finnick Odair."

His breathing is ragged and she's barely even touched him yet. It makes her feel powerful and intoxicated. The thought of having such a potent effect on him is incredibly compelling, and she fully intends on enjoying the moment as much as possible.

Sil takes a few steps back, drawing away from him completely and crossing her arms. The movement pushes her cleavage up a little, and his eyes dart down her frame again because he can't really help himself. She watches him watch her for a moment until she gets impatient, and abruptly says, "Well don't just stand there, darling. Take off the towel."

His eyebrows raise. This might be one of his fantasies, but he's nothing if not stubborn. He crosses his arms too, imitating her stance, and drawls, "What are you planning?"

Sil narrows her eyes at him. "You'll never find out if you don't do as I say. I assure you, my love, you'll enjoy every second of it."

His eyes flash into hers, warring between his stubbornness and his eager desire to see how she navigates through this incredibly arousing situation they've landed themselves in. Sil doesn't usually take the lead, not like this. Concerning intimacy, she's no longer as shy as she'd been in the very beginning, but this is something else entirely. This is boldness and dominance at its finest, and he's slightly caught off guard by it all. Not enough to make him waste the moment, though.

"Oh, orders? That's kinky," he quips playfully. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say this is one of your dirty fantasies too."

The accusation doesn't have the effect on her that he expects. Instead of a blush and an adamant denial, Sil just hums low in her throat and responds, "It _is_ one of my fantasies, Finnick."

It's the sound of his name more than anything else that really does him in at that point. The honesty is arousing in and of itself, but the way the low tones of her voice drag through his name is what makes desire spark through him like a bolt of lightning. He stops breathing for a second, trying not to make his arousal overly obvious with the raggedness of his breath, but from the way Sil's eyes flash at him, he doubts he's very successful. Perhaps she's right. Perhaps he really isn't all that difficult to read.

She slowly murmurs, "Now stop being stubborn and lose the towel, darling."

It's definitely her voice, he decides as he braces himself against another deep shiver. It's also her eyes and the dark way they take him in. There's something predatory about her that he's not sure he's ever seen in this light. A certain hunger for him that drives him insane.

With a short exhalation, Finnick decides that being stubborn is not in his best interests for now. He wants her to touch him. He wants to feel that leather against his skin again, shifting over his body while her hands explore the contours of his. He's not sure he's ever wanted anything so intensely in his entire life. Lifting his hands to his towel, he untucks the fabric and lets it drop.

He watches her the entire time, eyes locked to her expression. The burst of desire that fills her gaze is consuming. She slowly lowers her eyes to peruse his form, lingering on the jut of his arousal with a hungry expression. His expression is equally hungry when she lifts her eyes back up to his, but if it impacts her in the same way it does him, she doesn't show it. Instead, Sil calmly murmurs, "That's better."

Of all the things to say, those words are probably the last that he expects. With a short laugh that's strained with desire, Finnick questions, "Is it? I'm glad you think so."

He smirks at her and she smirks back, matching him completely. She approaches him almost casually, eyes dipping over him as if viewing a work of art. And, like a work of art, she doesn't touch him. He grows tired of her measured perusal after a few moments of it, deciding to break the moment as he reaches out to haul her against him.

The kiss he delivers to her mouth makes her inhale sharply, but just as he expects, Sil sinks into him without a fight, melting into his arms with a moan as his tongue rushes out to rub against hers. He shivers against her, overcome by the dizzying sensation of that leather against his skin. He's quite sure it's the single best thing he's ever seen her wear, extravagant gowns included.

She ends the kiss too quickly for his liking, pulling back abruptly. He tries to follow, but Sil pushes him backwards with intent movements, breathlessly saying, "Your efforts to distract me are admirable, Finnick, but you'll have to try harder."

He laughs at the tone of her voice, suspecting that his 'efforts' are working a little better than she wants to admit, and quips, "Is that a challenge – "

His words get swept up in a surprised exclamation when the back of his knees suddenly crash into the edge of the mattress, and he falls rather inelegantly onto the bed with a harsh breath of air. Sil looks viciously triumphant as he lays prone on the edge of the bed. She wastes very little time as she kneels down in front of him and kisses his thigh, mere inches away from his erection.

The suddenness of it all makes Finnick groan, pushing himself up onto his elbows and saying, "Sil – " Once again, though, his voice is swept away, this time into a groan when she pulls him into her mouth.

He roughly exhales at the blistering pleasure that shudders through him, staring down at her in half hearted protest while she wraps her lips around him and sucks at him. It's unexpected, which makes it all the more arousing, and he barely manages to sit up and tug her closer as he threads his fingers into her white-blonde hair.

He watches her closely, addicted to the sight of his erection disappearing between her lips. She's only done this once before, that first morning after they were intimate, but it feels different this time. This time, it's far more chaotic, far more surprising. Instead of a slow build, Sil is all but devouring him. The sight is intoxicating and irresistible. He could come so easily right now.

Utterly breathless, Finnick clenches his jaw tightly. Strained moans and haphazardly construed phrases of encouragement spill from his lips. He hardly knows what he's saying. His words are a mumbled mess of quilted desire that seem endless and encompassing. He can feel her tongue rubbing against him, feel her fingers pumping at him whenever she comes up for a breath of air, and he's never felt more undone that he does now – never.

Before he even knows what he's doing, he's murmuring, "I want…I want – " breaking off into groans every time he approaches the rest of his words, and Sil is pulling back to darkly ask, "What do you want, Finnick?"

Their eyes clash and he wants to kiss her, badly, but instead his eyes dart down to her cleavage, which is spilling out even more prominently in her current position. Kneeling beneath him as she is, he can practically see right down to her naval. His eyes flicker with a desire that Sil sees clear as day, for she drawls, "Tell me. Say it out loud."

He exhales sharply and gives a strained laugh, not used to being on the receiving end of this madness. Usually he's the one coaxing such things out of his lovers, playing whatever role they want – but with Sil, everything is different.

"You're making me crazy," he breathlessly tells her.

She chuckles. "I'm well aware."

Now that she's not sucking at him with such determination and twisting his mind into a shattered mess, he can think straight. He's not shy at all when he reaches down to cup her breast through the black leather. His voice is confident even despite the shaky quality of his desire, which rattles through every syllable when he murmurs, "I want to be inside you."

She had anticipated his request, but a blush still spreads over her cheeks at the low admission. It's abruptly endearing to him in the midst of all this hard passion. He sees the rest of her nature starkly – the sides of her that are purely Sil. The posh, District 1 Victor who much prefers planning parties or hammering out jewelry or painting the walls of her grand estate to engaging in such intimate acts. He smiles and runs his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back to kiss her the way he's been wanting to, slow and deep and steady, and the kiss feels rather like an anchor that binds them together even as they sink.

He squeezes her clothed breasts with eager fingers, lifting their weight in his hands. She moans against him and bites his lower lip, dragging it into her mouth to suckle at him as his thumbs rub over the taut imprints of her nipples through the fabric. Breathless, she edges closer, pressing one hand over his and tilting her head back to kiss him more thoroughly. He breathes out against her lips as she shuffles closer and fiddles with the zipper of her outfit. He lifts one hand to gather her hair and pulls it back, gently tugging at her scalp as his finger slides the zipper down her naval. His hand palms the skin of her stomach and just that little touch makes her entire body erupt into a fierce shiver.

Panting now, Sil shudders into him. Their kiss slowly dissolves as Finnick peels back the leather from her shoulders and arms, gingerly slipping it down her frame. When the material catches on her elbow, they both chuckle. As ravishing as Sil looks in this getup, it isn't very practical for what's to come.

"I want you so much," she tells him, eyeing him fiercely and loving the way his expression melts at her words, passion overcoming his features. She pushes him back and whispers, "Lay down."

His eyes, which had been half-lidded before, now jolt open. Watching her closely, he raises his eyebrows at the order but doesn't complain, instead opting to push himself further up the bed and settle into the cascade of pillows by the headboard. Then, spread out in all his glory and looking far more sinful than he has any right to, he watches her shuffle out of the skintight outfit until she is just as bare as he is. The fact that she's not exactly wearing any underwear certainly doesn't help his case.

As she crawls up his body, he wonders how she's kept such a wanton side of her to herself all this time. He's never seen her so eager to make love to him. Not that she's ever been uneager, but tonight she's full of confident and determination, and it's a startlingly beautiful look on her. When he tells her this, Sil laughs, "I haven't had you for days now. I don't think you realize how much I like your body, Finnick."

He smirks, watching her adjust herself over him, and jokes, "I've created a monster."

Sil smiles wolfishly at him. The sight makes his cock twitch in her hands. As she starts to take him inside her, she responds with a breathless, "Just wait until the honeymoon, darling. You have no idea what I'm planning to do to you."

The warning makes his eyes flash with aroused excitement. She takes him all the way inside her, hilting him fully, and sits there atop him for a moment while she gets accustomed to the way he stretches her inner walls. He takes the opportunity to tell her in a strained voice, "If it's any more of _this, _then I'll be completely at your mercy, sugar."

She laughs, breathless, and starts to move. His expression crumbles into pleasure, hands grasping her hips tightly. She murmurs, "I'll keep that in mind, my love."

He groans, "Please do – " and gathers her up in his arms, pulling her down against his chest as his hips thunder up to clash with hers, not content to let her do all the work. She's supposed to be the dominant one, but she really can't complain as she moans against his chest and pushes her hips down to connect with his, body shaking with every hard thrust that he administers. Stars cloud her vision. She finds it difficult to breathe.

As he thrusts into her, he whispers to her in a voice tight with passion, murmuring how crazy she makes him and how he can't wait to marry her properly and how thankful he is that she came to him tonight because he is so overcome with pleasure that he can't even see straight –

And neither of them really notices the crescendo of their voices or the way their moans intermingle as they crash into the best finish either of them can remember, arms tightly wrapped around the other as they fall into the dark depths of their love.


	2. Sailor, leave the sea

**Chapter Two | Sailor, leave the sea**

Sil wakes up to a strange sound. It is composed of subtly familiar shifts of noise, soft swishes that edge back and forth, over and over. It's indescribably beautiful to her sleepy mind, and she turns her face toward the sound with a quiet sigh. Gentle grey light blossoms against her closed eyelids. She vaguely thinks it's odd, for in her half conscious state, she's thinks that she's in District 1 and she always sleeps with her heavy, sun blocking drapes over the windows of her bedroom, which succor out any and all light. She'd be up at six every morning, otherwise, whether she wanted to rise early or not. That, and the crisp chill of the air alerts Sil that something is off. Her district is never this cold during the daylight hours, and neither does her bedroom wash with the sound of waves.

With a start, she realizes that this is because she isn't in her bedroom in the Cornelius Estate. She isn't even in District 1. As if her brain has only been awaiting this understanding to blossom within her, a floodgate of memory bursts through her mind. Thoughts and images bombard her. The events of the past few months abruptly return to her, blindsiding her with their potency.

The first thing she sees when her eyes flutter open are the balcony doors thrown open and the ocean stretched out beyond. Gossamer curtains flutter as a gentle brush of air fans into the room. The windows are unguarded, allowing the dim light of morning to generously flood the space. It alights everything with a dove grey pallor, like the brightening offset of a bygone storm, washing the room with a scent of the sea and the soft haze of morning. Nothing is untouched, even the man beside her.

She turns to him, rolling onto her side and lifting herself up to admire him. Sil bites her lip to halt the grin from splitting over her face, but it leaks out regardless of her efforts, making itself known as it unfurls across her cheeks.

Finnick Odair is as gorgeous as ever, Sil decides, but even moreso when he's sleeping. With his expression relaxed and his body pliant, he is the very picture of effortless. His chest is bared and his hair is falling into his eyes, but the most endearing thing about the scene before her is that he is snoring.

Finnick Odair, snoring! Sil giggles to herself and shuffles closer, curling a leg over his. His sleep induced mind doesn't appear to be cognizant of her at all, even when she leans in and presses her lips against his jaw. Well. No one ignores Silver Lamprey Cornelius and gets away with it. She smirks and tilts his head towards her with two fingers. The movement halts his light snores, and the kiss she deposits to his lips seems to bring him out of his sleep.

"Mmm…" he chuckles low against her mouth, eyes still closed as he sleepily murmurs, "Good morning, sugar."

The nickname makes her bite his lip in retribution, which makes him playfully wince as he wraps his arms around her waist and hauls her on top of him. She's not expecting the move and therefore can't be held accountable for the way she squeals, "Finnick!" Though, to be honest, she can't really complain. He is very comfortable, after all.

He chuckles lowly and sighs, "I've missed waking up next to you…"

The admission makes her hum in agreement, burrowing her face against his neck and inhaling the familiar scent of his skin. They've only been sleeping separately for a few days, really, and yet it feels like an age. There's just something so beautiful about waking up in his arms, bodies tangled together like vines. That, and the nightmares are always kept at bay when they share a bed. Last night had been the first night in days that she's gotten a half decent sleep.

Humming sleepily, Sil mumbles, "Let's never get out of this bed, Finnick."

She can feel the way he smiles against her cheek. His fingers thread through her hair softly, his movements slow. When he responds, his voice is equally slow and content despite the gentle way he denies her. "If anyone found out that we broke the tradition last night, we'd never hear the end of it. You should probably head back to the cottage."

The reminder makes Sil immediately lift herself up to glower at him. She's had enough of this ridiculous tradition. She tells him as much when she scoffs, "I don't care what a couple of old sailors have to say about our relationship."

Finnick smiles widely at this and presses his lips to hers lightly. Into the kiss, he murmurs, "You say that now, but you don't realize how much teasing you'll have to deal with if they find out. We're a superstitious bunch, you know."

Sil grumbles, "I think I can handle a bit of teasing, Finnick."

He laughs, leaning back into the pillow and cushioning his head in the crook of his arm as he blinks up at her. He looks utterly divine in the morning light.

"You do handle yourself remarkably well, considering you're a posh socialite from 1," he concedes, chuckling when she rolls her eyes at him. "But weddings are a big deal here, sugar. I was hoping I'd be able to save you from the teasing. Why'd you think I kept my distance these past few days?"

She asks in a rather flippant way, "Perhaps you were bored with me?" She doesn't really mean it – the words are meant as a joke more than anything else. She's got full confidence that Finnick is _not_ bored of her. He proved as much last night.

He knows she's joking, but he still takes her words relatively seriously when he swiftly responds, "Never," and squeezes her hips to annunciate the denial. She breathes out a laugh.

Smiling sleepily, he says, "The teasing is going to be really crass, is all. If you hadn't noticed, people around here are pretty inventive when it comes to cursing. I'd rather you not have to deal with all that."

There's a subtle tone of concern to his voice that makes her melt a little. It's rather endearing that he's worrying about her, even when it's over some silly, superstitious tradition. With a sigh, Finnick sits up and tugs her into his lap, leaning in to kiss her properly. She's just starting to enjoy it when he pulls away, ending the kiss far too quickly for her liking. She grumbles defiantly at him and he chuckles.

"Time for your walk of shame, sugar," he jokes, and laughs aloud when she goes to smack him for his impertience.

Once she rolls off the bed and looks down at the outfit she'd worn last night, though, Sil realizes that his words are actually going to be a lot more realistic than they ought to be. The horrified expression that spreads over her face gives Finnick pause. He furrows his brow at her in concern and asks, "What's wrong? Silver?"

Her shameless display the night before had seemed like a great idea at the time, but for the first time in her life, she had failed to think far enough ahead. Her aristocratic features are aghast with panic when she says, "I didn't bring a change of clothes!" Then, turning to Finnick, she exclaims, "I don't even have any underwear!"

The situation should not be humorous, especially after the concern that he'd voiced about wanting to save her from the incessant teasing, but the way her well-bred accent comes out at full force makes him collapse into bed with laughter, his body shaking with it. Sil immediately glowers at him and storms to his closet, throwing open the door to riffle through his clothes.

"It's a Saturday," she mumbles, partially to herself, since Finnick is still in stitches on the bed – the traitor. She plucks out a dress shirt and reasons, "Maybe everyone will still be asleep. What time is it, anyway?" A quick glance behind her at the clock on Finnick's bedside table makes her groan. Ten o'clock? How could it possibly be ten o'clock already?

She throws the shirt on and rolls the sleeves up because it's too big. She's busy buttoning it up when she hears an appreciative grunt from the bed, and she throws a cavalier glare over her shoulder at Finnick, who's eyeing her admiringly from his spot nestled in the pillows.

"I do like you in my shirts, sugar, but you might want to rethink that. It isn't going to help," he drawls, leaning against the pillows with a smug expression. With a gleam in his eyes, he adds, "You look thoroughly ravished."

She huffs and turns back to his closet. "Where's that trench coat I wore the last time I snuck out of your place?" she demands, looking through his clothes with abandon.

He shrugs unhelpfully. "Probably back in the Capitol. It's just as well. That trench coat was what got us into this whole mess, after all."

'This whole mess' being their entire relationship. She glowers at him and he laughs.

"For someone who was just acting concerned about me being seen, you're certainly not helping," she tells him with an air of practiced arrogance, voice slightly muffled as she tears through his closet like a banshee.

Finnick bites back a smile and watches her. She's right, of course, but there's just something so arousing seeing her in his clothes. He quite likes the sight she makes, despite the fact that she's making a mess of his closet.

"I'll call Annie," he suggests, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress to search for his phone. "She can bring over some clothes for you."

Sil opens her mouth to refuse, but after a moment she just sighs and forlornly agrees, "Fine. At least Annie won't judge me. This whole thing was her idea after all."

Finnick raises an eyebrow at this and drawls, "I _definitely_ need to thank her then."

Sil sends him an unamused look and he snickers.

"Oh come on, this is kind of exciting, don't you think? Sneaking around like this?" he insists, walking over to where she stands and gathering her up in his arms. He pecks her cheek and smirks, "It's _way_ more fun than I thought it would be."

Spluttering at this, Sil demands, "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

He leers down at her, squeezing her waist and hauling her against him. He doesn't respond to her indignant question. Instead, he murmurs in a low voice, "The sight of you in my shirt is making me have all sorts of filthy thoughts, you know. You're irresistible."

He leans in to kiss her, but Sil pulls back to snark, "You were _just_ telling me to leave. Make up your mind, Finnick Odair."

He rests his forehead against hers and hums, "If I had my way, I'd drag you over to that bed and ravish you all over again."

Her breath catches. She can't help it.

"…Why don't you?" she asks – begs, really. Her voice cascades with desire. She yearns for him and he knows it.

Groaning, Finnick buries his face against her and sighs, "We shouldn't."

There's a hitch in his voice. It turns his words into a hesitant mess that Sil fully takes advantage of when she smooths her hands over his bare skin and insists, "We should."

She takes him against her palm and watches his expression melt. He doesn't stop her, even when she starts to gentle pump him, leaning in to nip at his jaw.

"You're a little minx, you know that? When did you get so good at seducing me?" he groans, reaching down to guide her hand over his hardening length.

She smirks against him and purrs, "I had a good teacher."

He growls at her and hauls her closer, breathing out as their skin presses together. Her hand shakes against him, fingers still weak and useless, and he gently clasps his fingers around hers to adjust her grip. His other hand snakes down her waist, squeezing her butt briefly before curling his fingers into her heat. The little pleasured noise she makes when he touches her has him groaning.

"I'm serious about the teasing," he tells her, gasping helplessly as his desire overcomes his earnest refusal; his last warning to her.

Sil, as usual, ignores him. She draws her lips to his and, against them, says, "I don't care. I'll have you as many times as I like before our wedding." The adamance in her words has him careening into her, gasping against her hair as his desire grows, spiraling into unknown territory with every pass of her fingers.

"God I love you," he tells her with a short, brief laugh.

Sil beams against him and kisses his shoulder, letting her actions speak for themselves.

* * *

Finnick's warning had not been misplaced, a fact that becomes very apparent to Sil the next day. She eventually manages to pull herself away from Finnick, by some stroke of willpower, but it seems that whispers and laughter follows her wherever she goes. When she heads into town to buy groceries, the workers snicker at her. When she takes a walk on the beach and ends up straying too close to the docks, the fishermen on the pier hoot and holler about how her and Finnick can't get enough of each other. By the time she storms into town later on, trying to focus on completing a few of the wedding preparations she still hasn't checked off her list, she's had quite enough of it. She can understand their amusement, but she doesn't appreciate feeling like a social stigma when all she's done was be intimate with a man she's technically already married to.

After a while of listening to the jeers and teasing, Sil decides that she might as well try to enjoy the attention. After all, it isn't every day that one gets to talk about their sex life in polite conversation. And while she might normally blush and splutter at thought of bringing attention to such things, she is beyond caring at this point. She's far more aggravated at this ridiculous tradition to shy away from this.

"You lasted four days!" one of the merchants guffaws. Sil knows him, but not well. She can't recall his name, but she always stops to appreciate his jewelry whenever she passes by his stall in the market square. He makes superb pieces with sea glass that she adores.

She's not so interested in raining compliments on him today, though. With a roll of her eyes, Sil retorts, "I don't see why I have to sleep alone when I've got a perfectly good man to keep me warm."

The woman from the next stall over laughs and calls, "He does more than keep you warm, I'll wager!"

Laughter stems up from the line of stalls, and Sil simpers, "Yes, he does. When he makes love to me, I forget my own name."

The laughter pauses, and Sil smirks triumphantly. She thumbs out a few bills to pay for the apples she's got in her basket, and says with far too much honesty, "I intend on being with him again tonight, if you were wondering, and I have no intention of apologizing for it."

Then she leaves, sending a leering smile to all the vendors on her way out. The woman who had spoken before hoots out with a loud, "Go get em, then, siren!" And the laughter abruptly starts up again. Sil grins and winks at the lady, thoroughly amused.

Finnick is not. At least, when she brazenly strides into the Victor's Village later that evening with half the village in tow to watch her dramatic entrance, Finnick is a little…surprised. He's not altogether put off, nor is he angry. He's merely taken aback, both by the sudden appearance of her at his door as well as the crowd of villagers that have gathered by the gates of the square, clearly amused at Sil's boldness. It's as if they haven't witnessed anything so entertaining in all their lives.

Sil, who is used to being a source of entertainment as both a Victor as well as the socialite fop of the Capitol, hardly bats an eye at their attention. When Finnick opens the door for her, she steps inside with a calm demeanor and calls, "Run along now, darlings!" over her shoulder, much to the crowd's amusement. As for Finnick, he just stands there in his doorway with a baffled expression until Sil shuts the door for him.

"I think you're missing the point," he says after a beat of confused silence. He turns to look at Sil with a raised eyebrow. Amusement peppers his eyes. "See," he explains slowly, as if she is a child, "You're not supposed to invite half the district to bear witness to our pre-marital shenanigans. That's why it's called 'sneaking around'."

She blinks at him and snorts, "Please. The poor dears clearly need something to talk about. Besides, we're technically already married." As if that makes it all okay, Sil shrugs and ventures further into the house, taking off her jacket and flinging it demurely over the back of the couch.

Finnick grunts. He's not exactly complaining. It's just that he had imagined that Sil would be mortified at this sort of attention, not basking in it. He's not really sure how to respond.

He follows her into the kitchen like a lost puppy, still baffled and caught off guard. His confusion only gets worse when Sil casually opens the fridge and sighs, "Don't you have anything besides fish? I would kill for some of Hale's roast chicken. He makes such a superb lemon sauce with just the perfect dash of rosemary. It's divine." Without waiting to hear his response, she pulls out the salad Finnick had made earlier for lunch and goes to hunt down a plate.

Finnick opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it again. After several moments of this, Sil's eyes cut across the kitchen to lock with his, and she laughs, "Dear me, Finnick. Are you worried that I'm going to seduce you again?" They way her eyes sparkle at him makes him exhale slowly, clearly unsure about what to say. Luckily, she saves him the trouble when she inelegantly says around a mouthful of lettuce, "Worry not, my love – your virtue is safe tonight. I've no intention of stealing it."

At this, something shifts in him, and Finnick crosses his arms to drawl, "No? Then why are you here, sugar? To eat all my food and bring unwanted attention on our relationship?"

There's something in his voice – some shard of impatience, perhaps – that makes Sil pause. She looks at him with unfocused eyes, swallowing down her mouthful of salad before pursing her lips and sighing, "You're angry with me, aren't you?"

The question makes him shake his head. "I'm not angry. Just a little confused."

She huffs. This whole situation is ridiculous – them living in separate houses until their wedding day, unable to be intimate in order to 'preserve' them or whatever the reason is – she's tired of it. She came to this district so that she could be with him, and for the first few months, they've lived a perfectly normal and astoundingly beautiful life in that little cottage by the sea. But now, a week before what should be the best day of her life, the silly traditions of this village keep them apart. She had gone along with it at first because she thought it was important to him, but she doesn't want to do it anymore. She just wants him.

Spearing him with a petulant look, Sil admits, "I can't sleep without you."

The confession makes him start. Surprise coats his features, and Sil immediately clears her throat around the suddenly awkward feelings crowding through her. She shouldn't feel awkward about it though, and she gets a little more frustrated at the thought.

Lifting her chin, she bluntly tells him, "I know it's only been a few days since this ridiculous separation, but I've been having such awful nightmares and you – you always keep them away." She pauses, and looks down at her salad when she adds, "The villagers can think what they will. I just want to sleep next to you."

A long silence cascades through the room after that. She is loathe to break it. She wonders if Finnick is truly so surprised to hear her say this. Surely he understands. Every Victor has nightmares. Hers are just quieter, lethal in a muted way. They don't usually make her scream; they make her drown.

She's used to dealing with them in her own way. In District 1, she distracts herself in her father's workroom when she can't sleep. In the Capitol, there's plenty of nightlife to keep her occupied. She doesn't linger in bed trying to fight off the monsters that call her name – she gets up and forcefully pushes them away by keeping herself busy. It's just that here, in this place that is still so new to her, she hasn't yet found a way to deal with the ghosts of her past that come to her in her dreams. She doesn't have a way to distract herself from their cage, unless she's with him.

Finnick's in front of her before she realizes it, pulling her into his arms with a soft, "Oh, Sil, that's – of course I get it. I don't like not having you near me either." He presses a kiss to her temple and whispers, "I've been having nightmares too."

She lets out a brief, humorless laugh and buries her face into his neck, sighing out. She feels so utterly safe in his arms, curled up against his chest. He is the anchor that holds her in place, stabilizing her in ways she never would have thought she'd want, until she got swept up into his particular brand of comfort.

They stand like that for what feels like ages, softly swaying on the kitchen tiles. Two souls have never known each other so thoroughly, she thinks. Perhaps she's being sentimental. She doesn't care.

After however many minutes pass, she sighs, "The townspeople must think I'm a harlot. I told them that when you make love to me, I forget who I am."

Finnick stiffens for a moment, and she pauses because – should she have said that? – but then she realizes that he's tense because he's trying not to laugh, and when he turns to her his eyes are sparkling like topaz. Her favorite.

"You told them that?" he asks, laughter swept up in the tones of his voice. His eyes burn with mischief.

She hums, cups his cheek, and murmurs, "They were aggravating me with their incessant teasing."

He chuckles and brings her back into his arms, wrapping her up against the warmth of his body and laughing against her hair. "They must think we're already locked up in my bedroom then, forgetting who we are."

She smiles slowly at him, partly because of the deep tone of his voice and partly because of the way he had mirrored her words, effectively telling her, in so many ways, that when they make love he forgets himself too. That all the pain and sadness and grief of their lives are left behind, and they become just him and her, and nothing else can come between them.

"Finish your salad and then we'll go to bed," he tells he after a moment, picking up her plate and handing it to her.

She smiles and says with a voice full of mischief, "Perhaps we should put on a show for them. They're doubtlessly still lingering outside."

But he only snorts and kisses her cheek, muttering, "I guess we'll have to wait and see how badly you want to forget yourself once we head upstairs."

And, laughing, she turns her head to kiss him properly, and she can't think of a better way to end the day.

"When it comes to you, always," she whispers, and he smiles at the dulcet tones of her voice and the way she skims over intimacy like she's a bird in flight – drifting forever in the peripheral of his vision.


	3. Think now of your homeland

**Chapter Three | Think now of your homeland**

Guests begin to arrive during the next few days. The date of the wedding is creeping up. Every hour marks its passage, and every time the train pulls into the station, more people come.

Granted, there aren't a lot of guests. The last time they'd done this, the Justice Building was full of strangers, high ranking Capitolites and important businessmen. Neither of them want to say their vows in front of people they do not know. So, besides the entire district, they've only invited a handful of others.

It's strange, really. As a girl, Sil used to daydream about her wedding day. Her imagination would produce whimsical decorations, and the desert of District 1 always lay in the background of them. Colorful fabrics would flutter in the breeze, canopying over the guests like wisps of magic. The night sky would expand all around them, stretching far to the horizon. And yet none of the things she had imagined as a child are things that she wants now.

She's already worn the fluffy white wedding dress. Already had the formal dancing and high-class swagger of a typical Capitol wedding. Sure, her and Finnick hadn't much choice in the matter at the time, but they had still said their vows to each other. It counted for something, at least. She's already had what would have been the wedding of her dreams, had circumstances been different. This time around, she wants something far more wild.

There will be no formal dancing, no waltzes, no Franz Liszt or Georgy Sviridov – no, she wants chaos this time around. She wants wilderness. Sawing fiddles and bright laughter, a simple dress and sand beneath her feet. It's…perhaps a little out of the ordinary, for someone like her.

"You're saying the vows here?" her father asks, when Sil takes him and her mother on a tour of the district after they arrive. Finnick is nearby, and chuckles at the expression on Gemma's face. The older man looks intrigued, to say the least. Having the wedding on the beach is romantic, of course, but it's a bit messy, and his daughter is the definition of an organized perfectionist. As for Aurelian, she just smiles fondly at her daughter and turns to study the beach. She's never seen such a sight before as feels invigorated by the ocean air as it lifts her hair up and blows it over her shoulder.

Sil impatiently explains, "It's not so very different from District 1, father. Weddings are held in the desert, you see darling." The last part is directed at Finnick, who tilts his head at this new information and hums. She turns back to Gemma and shrugs, "I think it looks lovely."

Gemma chuckles fondly at her and pats the back of her hand, which is hooked into his arm. "It does, dove. It's just that I was expecting something…more extravagant."

Off to the side, Finnick snickers. Sil's reputation precedes her, as usual. She just can't seem to shake it. Gemma knows her better than anyone, and even he is surprised at the casual tone that this wedding will have. It certainly isn't at all like the flurry of decorations and fairy lights Sil had thrown together for Katniss and Peeta almost a year before. Even her Capitol parties had more pomp and circumstance than this.

Not that Finnick cares, of course. He's all for the most casual celebration possible. He doesn't need fanciful music or expensive food, and he certainly doesn't need Sil to get swept up in her plans and lose sight of the reason why they're doing this in the first place. He had been a little worried that she'd get caught up in it all, but he's been pleasantly surprised at her approach. It seems that they share the same sentiments regarding this wedding. They already had the big white wedding in the Capitol. The whole purpose of this one is to give their previous vows meaning.

Sil is busy telling her parents about how the entire district is even more excited about the wedding than she is. Her voice is amused, content even. Finnick falls behind the pair as they walk along the beach, arms looped together. His eyes drift over her figure idly. A small, peaceful smile splits over his face.

She is not wearing teetering heels or expensive clothes. Her hair is wind blown and sweeps down her back in thick waves, and her voice is natural, not set in the exaggerated tones that it once was. She is not hiding herself. For once, she is simply Sil, and to Finnick, she's the most beautiful creature he's ever seen.

And she's his.

"Are you coming, my love?" her voice cascades to him, and their eyes clash.

He smiles. For the breadth of a moment, she seems taken aback at the cadence of adoration trapped behind his gaze, until her face falls into a similar expression and she smiles widely at him over her shoulder.

Chuckling, Gemma watches the pair and leans over to kiss his daughter's head. "I think we'll head back to the cottage, dove. We can find our way easily enough."

As Gemma turns to hook his arm into his wife's, Aurelian looks over at Sil and Finnick with a brimming, happy smile, then tells her husband, "Perhaps a long walk first? The sea is calling to me."

Finnick stuffs his hands into his pockets and smiles, "It tends to have that effect on people."

Aurelian catches his eye then, and the look she sends him makes him grin over at Sil. He's glad that it has such an effect, because he never wants her to leave his side. Gemma chuckles. Him and Aurelian leave them there on the beach, with the setting sun as company, and as they amble back up the path that is strewn with reeds and shells, he glances back only once to see Finnick pulling Sil against him, arm hanging off her shoulders as they continue their walk. The sight is restful, like a dream within a dream. It makes him smile fondly, for it is everything he could ever wish for his child, and that it enough.

* * *

Over the next two days, the beach is utterly transformed. Sil watches the progress with eager eyes, sometimes going down to shout laughing orders at the men who have volunteered their assistance. Her presence among them is an amusing sight. Despite being a slight, petit girl from District 1, she fits right in with the cussing sailors and fishermen who tower over her, muscles bulging as they lift heavy tables and carry chairs over their shoulders. They don't appear to mind her being there. They joke with her, serenade her with dirty limericks that leave her in stitches, and tease her about her posh accent. But there's something about the way they treat her that makes it fairly apparent that they respect this unassuming woman who doesn't quite understand all their traditions. Perhaps it is the fact that she's defied the Capitol for years as the Sterling Nightingale. Perhaps it's just that, when she wants to, her voice carries louder than any of theirs combined, and she isn't afraid of cursing right back at them if she's of the mind to. They appreciate her boldness and her bravery far more than they let on.

Finnick sees it. He sees it in the way they stand beside her, hears it in the way they converse, feels it in the lighthearted atmosphere that is cultivated whenever Sil joins them. Secretly, it makes him proud. He's happy that she's fitting into his district. Pleased that she'd been accepted by the roughened souls who live here.

"She still loves barking orders, I see," Johanna mutters as the pair of them watch from the beach path, taking in the sight of Sil wildly gesticulating to several of the men. There's a firm expression on her face that tells Finnick that she's not in the mood to take their crap, and the men seem to love it. Their laughter is loud and raucous, even as they voice their agreements.

Chuckling, he responds, "Well it is her favorite pastime." Hands shoved into his pockets, he watches her with a wide grin. Johanna takes one look at him and makes a face.

"I still don't understand how this happened," she says, looking between him and Sil with a baffled expression. He glances at her and she adds, "You two are from different worlds."

He smirks. Johanna had only just arrived an hour before. She'd dumped her belongings off at the local hotel and then stormed through the district to find him. The sight of her showing up so randomly had left him reeling for a while, until she demanded that he show her around and stop acting like an idiot. That brusque comment had certainly snapped him out of his surprise.

He hadn't been sure if Johanna was even coming to the wedding. She hadn't called or written that she would. It's just like her to forgo all of that useless business. In hindsight, he really shouldn't have been surprised at all.

Shrugging, Finnick replies, "Well _I'm_ still shocked that you've become such good friends with her."

The reminder makes Johanna splutter out a rough denial. "We're not _friends." _At the look Finnick sends her, Johanna rolls her eyes, "We're fellow Victors who just so happened to be in the Capitol at the same time and both like brunch. That's all."

Finnick laughs out loud at this. Johanna would never admit to being friends with someone like Silver Lamprey Cornelius. Her staunch refusal is amusing because he knows it isn't true. She might not outwardly admit it, but Johanna likes Sil. Maybe she even admires her. He understands. There's something magnetic about her that draws people in. Sil could befriend a tree if she put her mind to it.

The sound of his laughter seems to draw attention from the beach, and suddenly Sil's voice is shouting, "Johanna! You've come!"

She's making her way up the sand in no time at all, throwing her arms around the gruff Victor as if they're best friends.

"Get off me!" Johanna grunts, pushing Sil away with a disgusted look on her face. Sil just laughs at her, looking utterly unconcerned at the brash refusal.

"You're supposed to RSVP, not randomly show up," she berates a minute later, looping her arm into Johanna's despite the other woman's blatant desire for space. Sil crowds around her, totally unoffended and appearing as if she has no idea that her proximity is unnerving. From the way her eyes glint, though, Finnick can tell that she knows exactly what effect she has and is enjoying every second of it. He chuckles.

"Has Finnick showed you around yet? Let's go to The Cove for lunch, hmm? They have a new menu that has actual meat instead of just fish and I'm _dying_ for some steak," she babbles, pulling Johanna away with a beaming smile. The gruff woman is still trying to unwind her arm from Sil's even as they make it back onto the main road – a feat that Finnick finds extremely amusing.

They leave the men to their work, transforming the beach into the perfect wedding venue, and if Finnick hadn't known any better, he'd say that Johanna doesn't really mind Sil's adamant descriptions of the new steak dishes and the gravy sauces and the herbs that they use. In fact, from the resigned look on Johanna's face, he might even say that she _enjoys_ the strange friendship that's been cultivated between the two most unlikely people in Panem – not that she will ever verbally admit it, of course.

* * *

By the end of the day, the train from District 12 pulls into the station. If Sil is surprised that Katniss and Peeta have accepted their wedding invitation, she doesn't look it. Even when Haymitch swaggers onto the platform with his hands shoved into his pockets, Sil merely sends them all a wide smile. There's a happy gleam in her eyes when she greets the three Victors, and when she throws her arms around Effie's impeccably dressed form, it's as if they've never parted to begin with.

"You look wonderful, my dear," Effie chirps at her like they're old friends, despite the fact that they've really only gotten to know each other through Katniss and Peeta's own wedding months before. Sil smiles widely at the woman and tugs her off the station, eyeing her jacket with a discerning gaze.

"And you wear Gerald Sauveterre with such poise, darling. I do adore his new autumn line. His jackets are so elegant!" Sil praises, eyeing the patterned coat with admiration. Behind them, Katniss rolls her eyes, and Peeta bites back an amused smile as he catches his new wife's eye.

Finnick is working the afternoon shift down at the docks, at Rory's behest. Sil casually mentions this to the group as they make their way into the heart of District 4. She hides a smile into the collar of her jacket, enjoying the way their eyes light up at the sight of the ocean just beyond the town line. Little pockets of it can be seen as they walk through the street, appearing between shops and at the end of alleyways before disappearing again. There is something magical about this place that calls to their souls. Maybe it's the constant push and pull of the waves, or the briny air that invades every space and every breeze. She doesn't know, but she does so enjoy their reactions to it. Somewhere, somehow, this place has become her home.

"It's beautiful here," Peeta says, walking alongside her. He sends her a friendly smile which she returns. He is warm and kind. She hopes he never changes.

"The hotel is this way," she gestures, leading them through the market square. Vendors call out to her as she weaves around them, greeting her with large smiles. She beams at them all and tells the group, "Johanna is staying there. You're welcome to join her if you like. We have room in the Victor's Village as well, if you prefer."

The logistics are a bit haywire. Normally, Sil would have everything planned down to the letter, but she's let loose here. It's hard not to, in this place. There's something compelling in the atmosphere that makes her feel as natural as the sea breeze that wafts up from the ocean.

Peeta notices. He raises an eyebrow and slowly muses, "You've changed. You're more…laid back."

The term makes Sil burst into laughter as she catches his eye, grinning widely at him. He grins as well, tossing a smile back to Katniss, who is walking behind them with Effie and Haymitch.

"I'm happy here," she tells him, and it's true.

"Happiness suits you," he tells her, and that's true, too.

* * *

Several others arrive that evening. Tommy and Dorsey show up from the Capitol, barging into the district laden with more alcohol than they have any right to bring. The mere sight immediately makes the rest of District 4 welcome them with open arms, and before Sil knows it, the two of them are sharing stories of their deeds with the sailors down at the pub as if they've been locals there for years. This time, it's Finnick who doesn't quite know what to make of it, and Sil who laughs it off. The reversal of their usual roles gives him some pause at first, until Sil drags him to a bar stool and calls to the bartender for some cocktails. Then, allowing Tommy to drag her over for a toast, Finnick decides that she's in good hands. (He does rather appreciate the sight of her smiling so prettily beneath the dulcet lights, allowing herself to be spun into laughter with only a few short words from Dorsey.)

Tommy and Dorsey's rather sudden entrance into the district has an impact. News of that members of the Sterling Nightingale's league of spies have arrived sends the place into a tizzy. Her two friends, who aren't expecting such an uproarious welcome, are a bit out of their comfort zone as the bar begins to fill up. Of course, this certainly doesn't stop them from weaving more of their stories. Their captivated audience is eager for tales of their roguish exploits. Alas, if only they were _all_ full of swashbuckling tales. The life of a spy isn't always so dramatic.

"Then there was the time when Cornelius over here thought it'd be hilarious to force him into a dress," Dorsey drawls, much to Tommy's horror.

Sil raises a hand to interrupt, "We had to get into a female-only party on the top floor of the Plaza, and he was the only agent available."

Finnick snorts, trying to hold onto his laughter, and Tommy shoots him a glower. Then the agent sticks his chin up and stubbornly announces, "I look great in a dress, if you were wondering."

Dorsey bursts into laughter. Everyone else quickly follows. Sil purses her mouth and leans in to pat the side of his face with a snickered, "You looked very classy, darling. I truly didn't know you had it in you."

Tommy narrows his eyes at her and mutters, "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Sil snickers again, but just shrugs.

"Anyway, we all had a laugh at Tommy's expense. What other embarrassing moments can I recall?" Dorsey wonders as he nurses his drink. There are as many citizens of District 4 packed into the bar as possible, and they all lean in to hear his next story with eager eyes.

"We should be embarrassing _Sil_. _She's_ the one getting married," Tommy reminds Dorsey, looking quite recovered from the teasing. He bounces back fast. With Dorsey as a mentor, it's sort of a necessity.

Sil isn't sure she appreciates this and turns to Tommy with a wary look, but he just raises his eyebrows and smiles at her as if he's silently telling her that this is payback. She wrinkles her nose at him.

"My dear, you'll have your work cut out for you if you think it will be easy to – "

"Oh, how about the first time she tried on the Peacekeeper armor we stole from the prisons?" Dorsey drawls.

Tommy immediately crows, "She tripped over the edge of the rug because she wasn't watching where she was going."

"Landed face first on the floor," Dorsey adds, much to the amusement of their company.

Tommy smirks, "Good thing she had that helmet on."

"Excuse me!" Sil exclaims, hands on her hips and glowering at her two partners in crime. They both turn to look at her with raised eyebrows, pausing for a moment to eye her. And then…

"Ah!" Tommy suddenly says, "Then there was that time when she tried knocking out the guard on one of our first missions and utterly failed." He sighs, makes a show of buffing his nails on his jacket, and shrugs, "Thank goodness I was there to finish the job, or our Nightingale would've been toast."

Dorsey nods, "Yup, she had her moments."

"I most certainly did _not_ have my moments," Sil interrupts, only for Finnick to reach over and haul her to his side. He looks supremely amused, which doesn't help her cause.

Turning to face him, Sil starts to complain, _"Finnick – ", _only for him to cut her off with a chuckled, "Ah, don't be like that, sugar. We're not _all_ perfect like I am."

She glowers at him, and in turn, Finnick laughs and leans in to press a fleeting kiss to her cheek. She scoffs under her breath and mutters something about him not being as perfect as he likes to think he is, but Finnick just pulls her closer and cages her between his knees with another laugh.

The sight of them has Tommy smirking wider. He exchanges a glance with Dorsey and murmurs, "And then when _this_ lady's man fell into her life, our darling spy turned even crazier than usual."

His words make the crowd laugh, probably because they know first-hand the effect that Finnick can have on people. He's a charmer right down to his bones. Always has been, always will be. The Capitol had taken advantage of it, but in truth, there has always been something magnetic to Finnick's suave smiles and twinkling eyes. Even when he was just a boy, he'd charm his way out of trouble like no one else.

In the back of the pub, someone shouts, "Aye, that's our boy!", and the entire place turns a shade more boisterous than it had been a moment before, much to Sil's consternation.

When she glances over at him, Finnick is wearing a smug grin and looks extremely proud of himself. She rolls her eyes and elbows him in the ribs, though it hardly makes his grin disappear. He does, however, make a show of cringing back from her attack, as if she had truly injured him. His show extends to him rubbing his abdomen and gesturing to the crowd as if he'd silently telling him that being with Sil is something of a sacrifice on his part. She only elbows him again for it.

With a snicker, Finnick gathers her closer and turns to Tommy to innocently say, "I would love to hear _this_ story."

"_Finnick!"_ Sil complains again, this time struggling to get out of his hold. He doesn't let her though, and just wrangles his arms about her waist and smirks at her.

Apparently, the tides have turned against her this time, because Tommy and Dorsey look immensely pleased that Finnick had prompted them, and have absolutely no hesitation in delving into the tale of how Finnick's presence in Sil's life had driven her crazy – with much exaggeration. (In Sil's opinion.)

"She came barging into the shop looking all ruffled when she first heard about your fake relationship," Dorsey sagely informs Finnick, and the crowd at large, who appear to be thoroughly enjoying Sil's obvious embarrassment. District 4 is a close-knit community and they've welcomed her into the fold like never before, but that doesn't mean they don't occasionally poke fun at each other. Well, more than occasionally, if the multitude of daily insults and general laughter thrown at everyone in this place is any indication.

Tommy joins in to add, "Almost bit my head off when I asked why it was so awful."

"She complained for weeks," Dorsey nods, no doubt recalling Sil's many gripes about being forced into close quarters with Finnick Odair.

Speaking of, Finnick looks a bit ruffled himself when the two spies start spewing their recollections of just how annoyed Sil had been. He raises an eyebrow at her, only to see that her cheeks are pink and she looks a bit sheepish. The expression is so out of the ordinary on his normally confident lover that he can't help but send her a crooked smile.

Threading his fingers together as they rest against her back, he drawls, "Most women would be over the moon to wake up and discover that they're in a fake relationship with me."

Sil huffs at him.

Dorsey laughs, "Oh she was never over the moon, Odair, but she did come to terms with it faster than I expected."

"Dorsey – "

Sil is interrupted when Tommy leans over to nudge her and say, "She fell for you without even realizing it."

"Tommy!"

Finnick hums. It's a drawling sound, the kind that reminds her of amber honey or aged whiskey, dark and rolling and shiver-inducing. She's not immune to said shivers now, either, even though she tries very hard to reel them in. Finnick feels her shake despite her attempts, and the corner of his mouth pushes up again as he turns his head to murmur against her ear, "You're looking a little out of sorts, sugar. You're not _embarrassed _about falling for me, are you?"

Sil glowers at him and opens her mouth to retort, but before she can, a softer voice suddenly chimes in, "Oh, Finn, don't pretend that you were never affected by Sil."

Another, gruffer, female voice snipes, "He didn't even know what to do with himself, he was so confused. He's such an idiot."

Sil smiles triumphantly when Finnick pulls back to argue, "That's not true! I knew _exactly_ what to do with myself." Then, sending Sil a wink, he smirks widely when he sees her cheeks redden even more. She shoves him a bit, but this time he just squeezes her hips and laughs.

Annie and Johanna sidle against the bar. Annie doesn't order anything, but Johanna roughly demands, "Give me some of that sailor's swill, or whatever it is. Finnick says it's the best damned thing he's ever had."

The new additions to their party seem to shake up the tide of the conversation somewhat, because all talk of Sil and Finnick drifts away as Tommy and Dorsey turn to the newly arrived pair with curious eyes. They had briefly seen them at Snow's mansion directly following the rebellion, but it had only been in passing and they'd had greater things to concern themselves with than getting chummy with the other Victors. Now, though…

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Johanna gripes, turning to spear them with a narrowed look. As usual, her charmingly confrontational approach to all matters has Dorsey rolling his eyes and turning back to his drink. Tommy, on the other hand, just tilts his head and keeps gawking at her, looking somewhat taken aback.

Sil raises an eyebrow at him, turning in Finnick's arms to study his expression. She's a little confused at the sight, until Finnick leans in to murmur, "Looks like he's been enchanted."

She immediately sends Finnick a look and whispers, "That's ridiculous!"

He shrugs, _"That's_ the expression of love at first sight, sugar."

"It is not," she denies, then hurriedly adds, "Besides, this is _Johanna_ we're talking about. And they've seen each other before."

Finnick shakes his head at her. "Love at _second_ sight then."

Sil refuses to believe it. It just doesn't seem at all plausible. For as long as she's known Tommy, he's never been overly preoccupied with _anyone,_ let alone someone like _Johanna Mason_. Of course, when Tommy rearranges his flabbergasted expression into one that's slightly more charming and drawls, "Johanna, right? We've met before," Sil isn't as sure as she'd been seconds before.

She gapes at Tommy. Johanna does too. Well, for all of a moment before the brash Victor narrows her eyes at him, gives him a once over, and slowly responds, "I don't remember meeting you."

Dorsey snickers at this and mutters, "I guess you're forgettable, kid."

Tommy kicks his bar stool and says to Johanna, "We met at the President's mansion. I mean, I guess technically we never officially met. How's your drink? Let me buy you another."

The onslaught of words make Johanna give him a weird look. This goes on for several seconds before she grumbles, "No fucking way," grabs her drink, and retreats from the group before she can get roped into anything. Her staunch denial doesn't seem to upset Tommy. Instead of frowning, his face breaks out into a winsome smirk, and as he watches her walk away, he murmurs, "This should be a fun challenge."

Dorsey rolls his eyes. "Sounds more like a suicide mission to me."

Sil laughs and adds, "Tommy my love, this might be your hardest mission _yet."_

Tommy, though, just grins, pushing his glass towards the bartender for a refill. He shrugs, "Mark my words, you two – this'll be as easy as breathing."

As he rests his chin on Sil's shoulder, Finnick grunts, "Doubt it. Johanna isn't the falling in love sort. He'll need all the help in the world to accomplish _that."_

And, though he doesn't mean for it to be a suggestion, Sil straightens up as if it is exactly that, she declares, "I'll convince her to give him a chance. We're friends these days, you know." She simpers out one of her old insipid smiles, and Finnick hums dryly.

"…Still wondering how that ever happened," he mutters, though he doesn't really mean it.

Sil's greatest strength, after all, isn't that she's good at wearing masks or pretending to be someone that she isn't. Rather, it is just the opposite. Her greatest strength is being her _true_ self – warm, affectionate, energetic – and not even Johanna Mason is immune to _that_. In Finnick's expert opinion, he doubts that there's anyone in the world who _is._

* * *

To Sil's surprise, Beetee shows up later on as well, though like Johanna, he is a rather unexpected addition.

"I wasn't sure if I could come till the last minute," he explains to her as she's helping him maneuver the wheelchair. "I'm very busy in District 3. We're trying to get basic technology into all the districts, and I hardly have a minute to myself." From the pleased way he looks at her, Sil suspects that he's quite alright with delving into his work.

The only one who's refused the wedding invite is Gale. Sil isn't very surprised at that. She's not exactly good friends with the man, and last she heard, he's moved across the country to start a new life for himself in District 2. Some connections are not meant to be kept, and Sil accepts that. She accepts a lot of things these days, with a vigor that she never used to possess.

It's strange. A year ago, she's been entrenched in the Capitol, tossing her too-wide smiles to everyone who happened to see her and pretending to be the biggest fop in the country. So much has changed in such a short amount of time. It's shocking and beautiful all at once.

"Are you ready to marry me?" Finnick asks her later, tugging her away from the rest of the group as they enjoy themselves at the huge dinner that's being held in the market. Apparently, the festivities are normal for District 4. The parties, the feasts, the celebrations – they last days, weeks even. Sil thinks it's a little much, but she can't deny that the sight of all these smiling faces is more than pleasant.

She laughs at him when he pulls her into his arms, twisting her around to the beat of the fiddle music not far away. As the district whirls around them, Sil chuckles, "I've already married you."

He glowers at her, slowing the tempo until they're just standing there together in the crowd. "Don't tease. The wedding is tomorrow. Are you ready?"

Simpering, she responds, "Yes."

She doesn't say anything else. She doesn't really need to. Finnick huffs out a laugh and murmurs, "Me too."

He thinks, in the back of his mind, that it's about time. He grins, shuffles closer, gathers her up in his arms. His hand lays out over her cheek and he tilts her head back, lips lingering near hers. Sil's eyes flutter. She wants to kiss him more than anything. And then –

"GRAB 'EM!" someone shouts, and suddenly there's an arm looping around Sil's waist and dragging her back, and when she looks over at Finnick, a few of the sailors are playfully pulling him into a headlock. One of them looks vaguely familiar, and with a start, she realizes that it's Rory, the man that runs the docks and who Finnick works for. She's met him a few times, as well as his wife, a roughened woman named Della. They call her 'Finnick's Girl', as if they can never remember her actual name, but she doesn't really mind.

"Get off!" Finnick laughs, wrestling them off of him. Or at least trying to. There are too many of them, and before either of them knows it they're being dragged to the beach by the light of the moon.

Sil is not exactly amused at the prospect of being manhandled in such a way – especially when her struggling ends up with her being heaved over one of the sailor's shoulders. "Let me down _now,_ Eric!" she demands, recognizing the man by the mermaid tattoo curling around his sleeveless shoulder. He also works down at the docks with Finnick.

Eric laughs and pats her thigh with a raucous, "It's just a part of the tradition, love! You should know that better than anyone, seeing as it's a District 1 thing."

The words make her pause in horror. Through the crowd, her eyes cut over to where her father stands. There's a huge, mischievous smile on his face, and his eyes are downright gleaming in amusement. Outraged, Sil exclaims, "Who told you about that?!"

The answer is pretty obvious, though. Gemma Cornelius wouldn't miss a chance like this for all the world.

"Mind telling me what's going on, sugar?" Finnick asks when they're thrust back together again. Eric heaves her back down rather suddenly, reaching out to steady her just as Finnick is dragged over to her side.

Sil, looking utterly despondent, says petulantly, "It's something we do in District 1 on the eve before a wedding. But it hardly ever happens anymore – it's barbaric!"

Raising his eyebrows, Finnick watches as people start to gather sand from the beach. He reaches out to entwine his fingers with Sil's and asks, "…Barbaric?" He eyes her.

Scowling, she mutters, "The sand is supposed to renew you. Purge you of your old life so that you can get pledge yourself without anything holding you back. It's symbolic."

It's also ridiculous, and it isn't pleasant either. Before long, sand is being tossed over them. It feels like the entire district has showed up to throw their handful. Sil's hair is covered with the stuff, and she's got it in her mouth and on her skin and probably in places that it doesn't have any right to be. At least everyone else seems amused.

Johanna's laughter is the loudest – Sil can hear her riotous amusement even over the chatter of the crowd. So can Tommy, apparently, who is even now sidling up to her. She hasn't seen him yet, otherwise Sil is quite sure that he'd have been pummeled into the ground by now.

Her father is watching the proceedings with a large smirk. He winks at her when she catches his eye to glare at him. Finnick is actually more amused than anything too, but it's probably because he doesn't have long, thick hair that will take forever to wash.

"And you make fun of District _4's_ traditions?" he asks her after a few minutes of being pelted with sand. Sil turns her glower onto him and he raises his hands up with a chuckle.

"Be quiet," she snaps, tugging her hand free. "This is _not_ a tradition. It's a travesty."

From not far away, Gemma reminds her, "Your mother and I had to go through it too, Silver." As if that makes it at all better.

Groaning, she complains, "My hair is a mess and my clothes are ruined!"

It's such a characteristic thing for her to say that Finnick bursts into laughter – much to her annoyance – and turns to rather suddenly lift her up.

"What are you doing?" she demands, not appreciating being manhandled for the second time tonight. But Finnick just heads over to the jetty that juts into the ocean, carrying her through the handfuls of sand and jogging down the paved incline of rock.

"Don't you dare, Finnick!" Sil shrieks when she realizes his plans. She struggles in his arms and squeals, "Don't you dare drop me in the water – I swear to God I will never forgive you - !"

"Like you said, you're a mess," he teases her once they reach the end of the jetty. "So it won't matter if you get a little wet on top of it," he finishes, and tosses her into the ocean. Her shrieks get immediately cut off by the water. He jumps in after her, gathering her up into his arms despite her spluttering protests, and kisses her firmly on her mouth.

"Finn – I'm going to, mmm, get you back for this – " she gasps against him, clutching his shoulders with tight fingers as he effortlessly keeps them afloat.

He just laughs loudly and goes in to kiss her again, cutting off her warnings with eager lips.

"I look forward to it," he says into the kiss, and drags her behind the jetty, out of sight of the crowd on the beach.

"My clothes!" she complains petulantly, mourning the loss of her designer shirt.

Finnick smirks sinfully. "By tomorrow night, you won't need them anyway," he tells her, and kisses her solidly again. And, well, despite the outrage that spins her for a loop, Sil can't really stop herself from kissing him back, or wrapping her legs around his waist, or letting him guide them to the edge of the rocks. She can't really complain when he presses her to the side of the jetty and kisses her so deeply that she forgets how to breathe. And really, she doesn't even care that the rocks are digging into her and that it's not all that comfortable, because –

The wilderness of the ocean that bears witness to their kiss is just raw enough to drag her under the current of his love, and she doesn't care about anything else at all.


	4. Think now a thought of me

**Chapter Four | Think now a thought of me**

The ocean incident aside, the rest of the evening kicks off with a bang. If Sil had thought that she'd be able to get a nice, long rest on the eve of her wedding, she quickly realizes that she is very wrong. Apparently, she must have missed the memo, because when Finnick and her trudge back onto the beach, drenched with salt water and sand, Annie is quick to scoop up her arm and tug her away from him. Well, as quick as a very pregnant woman can be, in any case.

"What's going on now?" Sil complains, and looks back at Finnick as with disappointed eyes. He just winks at her though, crossing his arms and allowing Annie to drag her off to join Johanna, Katniss, and a group of other women nearby. He seem to know something that she doesn't, which she isn't sure she appreciates overmuch.

Sil recognizes most of the women, but not all. District 4 is a big place and she's still getting to know everyone. Luckily, they all know her well enough, and they don't hesitate in clapping her on the back and laughing at her soaked clothes.

"What do you think?" Della barks with a snort, slapping Sil's shoulder in what she probably thinks it a gentle pat, but actually sends her reeling a bit with the force of it.

Sil still looks confused, so Annie chuckles, "It's the eve of your wedding, Sil. The last night that you're an unmarried woman. These are your last hours of freedom."

There's a pause, and then Sil starts to point out, "But I'm already technically married – "

"That's besides the point," Annie cuts in, even though it really isn't, and shrugs, "Besides, hen parties are taken very seriously around here."

Sil's eyebrows shoot straight into her hairline. The words 'hen party' have a strange effect on her. She's half excited, half remorseful. She'd rather like to go take a shower and try to salvage her shirt (it's one of her favorites), and yet she's never been to a proper hen party before, especially not one that's held in her honor.

It's at this point that she realizes that the beach has split up into two groups, and that all the men are lingering together. From the middle of said group, Finnick calls, "Don't let them convince you to hire a stripper, sugar! I _will_ hear of it!"

The entire beach explodes into laughter, with some additional shouts from both the men and the women. ("I'll volunteer for the lady!" one of the men guffaws. "Hey, don't be rude to the bride," another man retorts. "We don't need a stripper to have fun!" a woman shouts back, followed by a wave of laughter from their counterparts.)

Sil's mouth flaps open and closed a few times in shock before she frowns over at Finnick, puts her hands on her hips, and yells, "The same goes for you, Finnick Odair, or I will veto our wedding night!"

She can vaguely see Finnick cringe dramatically from the group of men, which immediately break out into hollering jeers, mostly directed at the groom's potential lack of action on said night, and Sil crosses her arms staunchly.

"Honestly. These traditions are going to drive me mad," Sil mutters, much to Annie's amusement.

"Oh don't worry, Sil. It'll be fun, trust me." Then, leaning closer to whisper in her ear, Annie adds, "Plus, if you really want to leave early, I can help you escape." At Sil's questioning look, Annie smirks and pats her rounded belly. "Being pregnant does have its advantages."

Sil chuckles at her, but doesn't get a chance to respond before Della is shouting, "Let the hen party commence! If you fellows ruin it, we will be waging war!"

The men seem more amused by this than not, and Annie explains why a moment later when she tells her, "It's part of the tradition. The men always try to crash the hen party."

Sil's mouth drops open in outrage. She shoots a narrowed look over at Finnick, but his back is turned towards her and she can't see his face. With a _humph,_ Sil mutters, "Gracious!", and Annie laughs.

* * *

Sil doesn't know what to expect from the party that she hadn't planned. Despite her more laid-back way of living these days, these sudden turn of events leaves her reeling. Lately, she's been letting go of her old perfectionist ways (at least, little by little), and so this uncontrollable sensation of letting the night play out as it will takes her rather off guard. That, and she is a bit tired. Not that any of the other women will accept this as an excuse, of course.

"To the bride! May she have many an all night in!" someone shouts, and the group of born and bred District 4 women cheer as they raise their glasses for yet another toast.

Annie, who has taken Sil under her wing for the night, giggles and leans in to explain, "An all night in is a sailor's term for no night watch. Basically, they're wishing for many sleepless nights between you and Finn."

Sil chokes a bit on the whiskey she's been given and blushes at this. On her other side, Effie clucks, "That is definitely not like Katniss's wedding. _At all."_

The woman attached herself to Sil's side some time ago, no doubt feeling out of her element in this boisterous crowd. This wedding _is_ different from Katniss's, though. It's more than just casual – it's wild to its core. A sophisticated woman like Effie Trinket is surely reeling from it all. Sil would know, because she's reeling, too.

With a shrugging laugh, Sil responds, "Yes, well, this _is_ District 4, darling."

Despite Effie's muttered words, though, she doesn't seem to mind the caustic energy of the hen party. The smile she sends Sil is a bit uncomfortable, but only a little bit. "Quite true, my dear," Effie sighs, leaning back in her chair as she nurses a full glass of sailor's swill, fixing her designer jacket with fluttering fingers. The sight is so strange that Sil can't help but chuckle.

Another woman at the back of the bar calls lewdly, "May her body be the deck and her husband be the hands!"

The women burst into laughter. Effie raises her eyebrows and makes an amused sound in the back of her throat. Nearby, Johanna's barking laughter can be heard, no doubt at Sil's expense, and Katniss rubs her mouth to hide her grin. As for Sil…well, Annie takes one look at her bright red face and snorts into her glass of water as laughter catches her chest. Sil throws her a look, but can't find it in herself to be upset despite the embarrassment she feels at the racy well-wishers. It is a hen party, after all. These things are to be expected, right? Regardless, Annie looks very happy to be in the center of it all, even though she's very much pregnant.

"I almost _wish_ the men would interrupt," Sil mutters, rubbing her forehead as Della throws herself into the chair beside her and thrusts a full glass of whiskey into her hands. Before Sil can protest, Della has already taken her nearly empty glass and is shoving it into another woman's hands to be refilled, and then turning back to urge Sil to drink. Sil, not wanting to be rude, concedes by taking a small sip.

To be honest, her head is already spinning. She's not used to overindulging in such a way. Though she's been to countless Capitol parties, where overindulgence is commonplace, she's never allowed herself to get drunk. As the Sterling Nightingale, too much was at stake back then for her to make such a sloppy error. She's got a high tolerance for those swanky Capitol drinks, but _this_ stuff is definitely not anything close to those sorts of mixed cocktails.

"Oh aye, they'll show their ugly mugs soon enough," Della tells her, having overheard Sil's muttered words. She throws her a wink and adds, "It's part of the – "

"Tradition," Sil finishes dryly, much to Della's amusement. The older woman throws her head back with a loud, full-bellied laugh.

The bar that they've taken over (for lack of a better word) is bursting at the seams with women from the district. Half of them Sil doesn't know, but it hardly makes a difference. Finnick had told her once that this place is a community, and she understands that even more than ever before as she sits in the middle of it all. It hardly matters that she doesn't know them all by name; they know her well enough, and she's soon to be a member of their district, which makes her one of their own – and all the more reason to celebrate. Not that they necessarily need a reason.

Johanna and Katniss are sitting nearby. Every so often, the sound of Johanna's laughter can be heard through the uproarious toasts and raunchy wedding night suggestions. Katniss looks distinctly out of her element, and has commandeered a chair nearby. Sil is rather jealous of the fact that Katniss has been sipping at her one glass of whiskey all night long without anyone shoving more drinks her way. Apparently, a District 4 hen party means that the bride has to get piss drunk in order for the other women to be satisfied.

Sil is definitely on her way to it. A few women in the corner have taken out some fiddles and are sawing away some jigs, and the fast beat tune is making her head spin even more than the drink. Still, despite all of this, she is actually having a good time. She'd definitely rather be snuggled up next to Finnick in their bedroom at the cottage, but this isn't so bad. It is fun watching the women let loose, even though some of their suggestions make her blush harder than she thinks she ever has.

"Aye, love, and if ye want yer weddin' night to be proper, don't let 'im breach ye till yer good an' ready," a woman drunkenly informs her, only for another to nudge her out of the way and declare, "As if the bride doesn't know that already! Here's some advice: make sure you've got whiskey!"

The whole of the bar erupts with cheers at this, much to Sil's amusement.

Della laughs loudly and shouts, "May your nights be full sail for many years to come!"

A clinking of glass can be heard all around the room as yet another toast is given, and Sil laughs with a sigh as everyone leans in to make sure they knock their glasses against hers.

As more toasts are shouted throughout the crowd, Annie edges in to say above the noise, "Have we scared you off yet, Sil? We're a noisy bunch."

Sil catches Annie's eye and smiles widely. It's true, the people here _are_ noisy. They're hard souls; fighters to the last. She rather loves it.

Instead of answering Annie's question directly, Sil stands up, swaggering a little because her head is spinning even more now, and loudly says, "Thank you all for celebrating with me tonight!"

Her words have a startlingly beautiful effect on the people who hear them. There's a soft pause, which lasts only a few seconds, before Della grins down at Sil and swings her arm over her shoulder. Then, raising her glass, the older woman calls, "To the bride!"

The room is quick to respond, "To the bride!" Then there's another pause as glasses are tipped back and more whiskey is handed around. This pause doesn't last long either, though, before someone is snarking, "What're we doing in here, eh? Let's go hunt down the groom and make sure he's behavin' himself."

The entire room immediately choruses with rounds of, 'aye', and before Sil knows what's going on, she's being swept out of the door and into the night, still clutching her glass of whiskey as the women chatter around her, coming up with an alarming list of ways that her groom might be 'misbehaving'.

"Don't worry," Annie tells her, dragging her aside for a moment before they can get separated. "I'm sure Finn and the men are down by the docks. I think I'll head home though. My feet are aching."

Annie, being pregnant, is probably the only person in this large group who is _not_ piss drunk. Even Sil is leaning that way, and immediately whines, _"Don't_ _leave_ – you promised you'd save me!"

Annie chuckles at her and pats her hand, which has darted out to grab onto Annie's shoulder as if she means to pin her down right here, forever, lest she abandon her in her time of need. Only it isn't really her time of need, which Annie is quick to point out when she says, "Everyone's drunk enough that I doubt they'd notice if you left. Besides, you're the Sterling Nightingale. I would've thought you'd be able to save yourself."

Sil glowers at her and petulantly responds, "…I wasn't dealing with the entirety of District 4 back then."

Aye, now that's a force to be reckoned with, if ever there was one.

"Are you coming?" Johanna suddenly demands, and pulls Sil along with her as she joins the group. Effie teeters behind them in her stilettos, holding onto Katniss's arm for dear life as they get shuttled off by the large group. Annie just waves happily at them as they are swallowed up by the others, chuckling to herself and watching the pure chaos that this evening has brought. Honestly, whiskey induced hazes and raunchy toasts are just all a part of the tradition, but – Annie's got a feeling that Sil doesn't mind said traditions as much as she outwardly claims, if the grin on her face is any indication.

* * *

Sil doesn't know how many hours go by. She's reached her limit a while ago when it comes to the whiskey, and has long since retreated off to the side in hopes that she can beg exhaustion should any more of the alcohol come her way. She feels that she ought to be more accustomed to liquor, but it isn't _just_ the liquor, really. It's the energy of the night, the loud laughter and happy shouts, the wild way the world spins around her and the district tumbles through her vision like falling pebbles.

Their hunt for the groom has long ago been put on hold, and now the women are just idling in the market square, exchanging stories of days gone by. Many of these stories have something to do with their spouses and family. Sil listens in rapture, finding herself to be rather enjoying this part of the evening. Her head is spinning like a tornado, and she only soaks in so much of the words, but she likes the toned-down hush that the group has taken on.

Well, until the women's goal ends up coming true, but through no attempt on their part: the groom, apparently, has arrived.

"What's this? This ain't a party!" Rory's voice shouts into the square, and everything suddenly goes a bit haywire.

Della snorts at the sound of her husband's voice and nudges Sil. "Told you they'd show themselves. Can't keep away from us womenfolk, can they? Nosy old fools."

"Fools we might be, sweet Della, but us fools have brought rum!" Rory announces, and the place goes crazy with laughter and cheering.

"Where'd you get that?" Della demands, hands on her hips and looking perfectly sober despite having had quite a few drinks by now. She's either good at pretending, or just has an incredibly high tolerance, because she doesn't even sway as she marches up to her husband to look at the bottle he's holding, inspecting it to see if it really is rum.

Rory starts spinning an exaggerated and very roundabout tale about how they stumbled 'by chance, ya hear' across several crates of rum, which 'came outta nowhere' and fell into their very fortunate hands. As he does, Sil peers through the crowd to find Finnick, swaying a bit on her feet as her drink gets sloshed around her glass from the movement. She doesn't see him at first, and her current state doesn't help matters much, but after a short while…

"Woah, sugar. Are you feeling okay?" a voice asks off to the side, followed by a chuckle as a warm arm wraps around her waist to steady her.

"Finnick," Sil beams, and throws her arms around him. The action makes her spill half her drink. She'd forgotten she was still holding it to begin with, which only tells Finnick what he already knows: his very posh, upscale lover is extremely drunk.

He makes a face as some of the whiskey gets spilled on his shirt, but doesn't seem very upset by it. He looks a little worse for wear too, to be honest. His hair is going in every direction and his clothes are wrinkled and still damp from their jaunt into the ocean. He smells like rum and the sea. When Sil presses her face against him, it's an oddly pleasing scent. She _really_ must be drunk.

"I'm perfectly fine," she tells him, though it doesn't do her much good. In his arms, she sways like a hurricane, and Finnick can't help but snicker at bit at the sight of his elegant lover looking so out of sorts.

Holding her tightly to ensure that she doesn't fall, he reaches around to take her glass and shoves it into the nearest person's hands. By some stroke of luck (or not), said person happens to be Johanna, who shoots Finnick a raised eyebrow and a hard stare at the move, but ultimately doesn't mind overmuch and merely commandeers the drink for herself.

"Whiskey isn't your thing, sugar," Finnick tells his bride, and laughingly adds, "District 4 has done a number on you."

Sil lifts her head to pout up at him, taking one look at his clear eyes before staunchly demanding, "Why aren't _you_ drunk? You look perfectly wonderful!"

Finnick's response to this is a smirking shrug and a drawled, "Because I was basically raised on this stuff. I'm practically immune to it by now."

He watches Sil's pout turn several shades more childish, and chuckles fondly at her. District 4 really _has_ done a number on Silver Lamprey Cornelius. He doesn't think he's ever seen her in such a state. The only time that comes close to it in his memory was when she was unwillingly hyped up on the drugs that Felix had snuck into her drink without her knowledge, way back at that Capitol party, but – well, any thought of _that man_ is definitely not allowed on a night like tonight, and Finnick forcefully pushes that out of his mind before it can ruin his mood.

"I've been indoctrinated," Sil bemoans dramatically, still swaying, and the crowd jeers when they hear her words, which are far louder than she probably means them to be.

"Aye, she's one of us now!" someone shouts, and the whole crowd of both men and women cheer as if this is the finest news they've ever heard.

Finnick grins boyishly and threads his fingers through Sil's hair. They get caught on the tangled waves, which are still laden with salt water, now long dried but still making a mess of her normally perfect image. No, tonight she does not look perfect – at least, not in any way that her alter ego would accept. Tonight, she is reckless, like a tall wave that crashes onto the shore mercilessly. Tonight she is a wild siren who's walked straight out of the sea and into his heart, which pumps fiercely in his chest whenever he looks down at her.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat as he guides her over to the nearest chair, heaving her into his lap as the rest of the district distributes their latest catch. The rum had hardly 'fallen from the sky', as Rory is still claiming several yards away. Actually, it's from District 1, curtesy of one Gemma Cornelius, who is even more mischievous than even Finnick had thought. He doesn't tell Sil this, though. She's quite out of it and probably wouldn't hear the words even if he did say them aloud. Besides that, Finnick is rather enjoying the way she's nuzzling into him without any of her usual inhibitions, apparently too far gone to care.

When she starts fiddling with the buttons of his shirt with inebriated fingers, Finnick gently scoops her hands into his and brings them to his mouth to kiss. Against them, he murmurs, "Control yourself, sugar," in a joking, lighthearted voice.

Sil moans disagreeably and mumbles, "It's the strangest thing…but I don't want to…"

He grins crookedly and informs her, "Yeah, whiskey is really not your drink. It turns you into a crazy siren. I'll have to remember that." He laughs at the way she immediately groans, and pulls her closer to whisper, "We've got tomorrow night for _that._ You'll just have to be patient."

She sighs mournfully and he grins wider, rather enjoying the disappointment that is clearly etched into that shard of sound.

"I want you now," she drunkenly tells him, and he shushes her lest anyone else overhear. The teasing would be horrendously loud. Still, he can't help the pleased way he hums upon hearing her declaration, and merely sits up with a glance at the other partiers.

"I think what you really need is a good night's sleep," he murmurs, standing up and wrangling her into his arms. It's a bit of a struggle at first, because she isn't too keen on it, but after a moment she settles against him with a tired heave and a mumbled, "…Need to wash the salt out of my hair…", as if it's the single-most important thing on her to-do list.

He bursts into laughter. The fop of the Capitol apparently still holds some sway over Silver Lamprey Cornelius – at least when it comes to her prized hair.

"Alright, sugar, let's go wash the salt out of your hair," he placates, even though he doesn't intend on doing anything of the sort in the state she's currently in. What she needs is a glass of water and a good night's sleep. With another chuckle, he looks over at Johanna with a nod. When her attention is captured, he tells the other Victor, "I'm taking her back to the cottage. Make some sort of excuse for us if they ask, would you?"

Johanna's eyes flash upon this request, and Finnick is left with the distinct impression that whatever excuse Johanna Mason will come up with, it won't be one for polite company.

"Sure thing, pretty boy," she tells him with a wide smirk, which only grows wider when Finnick rolls his eyes at the nickname that she's clearly gotten from Della, who calls him that almost exclusively.

Still, he doesn't linger. He's a bit more preoccupied with getting Sil to bed. She's already half asleep in his arms, her head tucked against his shoulder and the crevice of his neck, idly clutching the collar of his shirt as she breathes deeply. Come morning, her head is going to be spinning with the worst hangover she's ever had, and he's quite sure that she'll be thoroughly upset at having had so much to drink. For now, though…

"C'mon sugar," he whispers to her, and the edge of his mouth flutters up when she mumbles back, "The salt, Finnick, it'll kill me…". She's probably not even conscious that she's saying the words aloud.

He just chuckles softly and weaves through the crowd until he gets to the outskirts of it, glad that no one seems to even notice them leaving. Everyone is too wrapped up in their celebration to pay them much mind, and it certainly helps that most of them are piss drunk by now.

"Mmm…the salt," he murmurs back to her, and purses his mouth to stop the laugh that wants to spring into existence.

Sil just holds him tighter, not appearing to hear him, and sighs against his chest. As for Finnick…well.

There is something surreal to this moment that he cannot describe. The ocean sounds in the background, followed closely by the subtle clinking of glass and the now-softer noises of fiddles and laughter coming from the town square. It is a simple moment, really, made up of all the things he loves, and yet –

A most remarkable feeling rises up within his chest as he carries Sil back to the cottage. Finnick Odair doesn't have much experience when it comes to happiness, but as he makes his way through the darkened streets, he's filled with so much of it that he can hardly breathe.


	5. Oh, I know you find your thrills

**Chapter Five | Oh, I know you find your thrills**

The next morning, Sil wakes up to a blazing headache and a smirking Katniss. Before the girl even says anything, Sil ascertains that this is her form of revenge for pulling her and Peeta away from each other so early on their own wedding day. Sil rolls her eyes at her and mumbles, "You're so predictable, Katniss," as she grimaces into her pillow. Even speaking that much has consequences on her head that she'd rather not admit to, and she cringes a bit as she snuggles into the soft fabric.

"Gracious," she moans, "I'm never drinking whiskey again."

Beside her, Finnick groans as he wakes up, frowning at the sound of voices. He gets a rather unexpected wake-up call when Katniss victoriously rips the blanket from their bodies – then lets out a disgusted exclamation when she sees that neither of them are wearing much in the way of clothing.

Smirking vividly, Finnick drawls, "Are you looking to join us, Katniss? There's room for three."

Sil slaps him on the shoulder for that and grumbles, "No there's not. Go away."

Katniss shields her eyes and says, "Get up before Effie comes in here and starts talking. She never shuts up."

The pair snort in amusement at this and Katniss tosses the blanket back over them so that she doesn't get blinded by the sight of bared skin, then loudly says, "This is what you get for waking me up at six in the morning on my wedding day, Sil. It's called revenge."

Glancing over at her with a raised eyebrow, Finnick mumbles, still only half conscious, "Did you really do that?"

Sil only shrugs impishly and manages to snicker around her headache. He joins in, rolling over and throwing an arm around her waist as they laugh childishly together on the bed. Katniss rolls her eyes at them.

"Please put some clothes on," she begs in exasperation. "Effie'll be up soon with your dress and I look forward to watching her torture you with make-up."

Snorting, Sil responds with a scoff, "That's only torture to _you,_ darling." Then, sitting up with a yawn, Sil flourishes her hand at Katniss and demurely demands, "Coffee, please, my love. And maybe some toast. Go on then."

Katniss glowers at her and stomps out of the room.

"Toast? You don't even eat toast," Finnick says, voice muffled from the pillow.

Sil snickers again and responds, "Darling, today I fully intend on ordering everyone around to my heart's content. If I want Katniss Everdeen to make me toast, then I will. Even _she_ can't deny a bride on her wedding day."

Finnick grumbles, "I think you're overestimating yourself. This is Katniss we're talking about."

Sil smirks widely. "Oh I don't know. It's worth a try. _You're_ not exempt from my orders either, my love."

She twists around to face him, and he raises an eyebrow at her. His voice is full of innuendo when he drawls, "And what sort of orders do you have in mind, sugar? Anything scandalous?"

She pauses for a moment, then crawls towards him and swings a leg over his waist, hovering over his body with a mischievous look in her eyes. Interest captured, Finnick's hands flutter over her thighs as he peers up at her from the pillow, swallowing tightly when her hips careen just so into his. She leans down to give him a lingering kiss, nipping at his lower lip, before murmuring, "After that stunt you pulled last night, I can think of _quite_ a few."

Then, leaning closer to whisper something in his ear, she gives him a very thorough account of what several of those orders include. The very detailed list makes him groan, arousal taking a turn through his body. His fingers flex around her legs as if he's minutes away from pulling her down and bringing her wicked ideas to life. She doesn't let him though. Before he can roll them over, Sil darts off of him and says, "I suppose you'll just have to wait until tonight."

He stares at her for a moment in surprise, and then groans again, head falling back down with a petulant frown. "That's not fair," he whines, "now I won't be able to think of anything _but that_ for the whole day."

The smile she sends him is downright evil. She shrugs breezily and gathers a few clothes to take with her to the shower. "Poor thing," she tells him, not looking sorry at all. "That's what you get for throwing me into the ocean without warning."

He grumbles at her and mutters, "It was worth it. The look on your face was hilarious."

Before she can retort, the door opens again and Effie strides in. The moment she sees the pair of them, she lets out a surprised exclamation and turns abruptly to face the door. "My goodness! Clothes are important, you know!"

From the bed, Finnick bursts into laughter, and Sil chuckles as she slips her robe on.

* * *

Hours later, Sil is dressed in a simple off-white number that looks absolutely nothing like the fluffy confection she'd worn during the wedding her and Finnick had been forced into in the Capitol. This dress is slim, elegantly wrapping around her figure before falling in several layered pieces to her ankles. When she walks, the dress parts in several places, showing off slivers of her legs. It's sleeveless, with only two small straps holding the piece in place, and has a modest bodice that's detailed with only a little bit of embroidery around the bust. To be blunt, it's probably the simplest dress Sil has ever worn, and she adores it.

"So this is goodbye, then," a voice drawls from the door of her room. "Finnick'll never let you leave District 4 and I'll never get to see you again." A dramatic sigh sounds, followed by an impatient huff from Sil as she turns to see Tommy leaning against the threshold.

With a shake of her head, she chimes, "You're always welcome to visit, darling. Besides, do you honestly think I could live without Gigi's? I'm quite sure I'll see you plenty."

Well, in a way, it's true. Her alter ego's obsession with the huge department store had been exaggerated to fit her role, but it would be a lie to say that it is all fabrication. Sil does love Gigi's, and even though she loves District 4 even more, she doubts she'll be able to be cloistered up here for the rest of her days. Trips to District 1 and the Capitol are a given.

Tommy sighs again, quite dramatically, and steps into the room. Effie and Aurelian have only just stepped out of it, and Sil is happy to have a moment of silence before she heads down to the beach. She twists in front of the mirror, eyeing her gown with an expert gaze. Several wisps of her hair are out of place, but she doesn't make a move to fix them. The ocean breeze will only mess them up all over again and besides, she doesn't mind the slightly wild look they lend her today.

"It's not the same," Tommy says, referring to her adamant words about embarking on many future trips to Gigi's. He flops down on her bed, not caring about wrinkling his suit, and splays his arms out on either side of him as he says, "Having Dorsey around is nice and all, but life is so boring these days."

Sil giggles and turns to him. Her alter ego would surely have a heart attack at the way she crawls onto the mattress next to her closest friend and confidante, curling up in the crux of his arm without a care. She doesn't think twice about wrinkling her dress or messing up her hair, though, when she wonders, "Do you have any plans?"

He snorts and mutters, "Plans? What a dreadful word." She laughs at him and he chuckles. "Well I _am_ a rich Capitol heir, you know," he says in an exaggerated, posh voice, glancing down at her with raised eyebrows. Sil plays along, nodding with an amused smile, and he continues, "The family company is technically mine now, so I guess that means…_office job…"_ he wrinkles his nose distastefully and scowls.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad, darling," she placates with a shrug.

Tommy makes a noise in the back of his throat and mutters, "Oh yes it will. Have you already forgotten what Capitol society is like? I'll be expected to attend parties and all sorts of events, and I'll probably end up getting paired off with some random Capitolite woman with a generically annoying laugh and a penchant for spending all my money."

Sil purses her lips to stop herself from laughing, knowing that he would probably take it the wrong way, and says with some composure, "Why not sell the company and move to one of the outlying districts?"

At this, Tommy pushes himself up on his elbows and exclaims, _"Sell_ the company? I'd be broke! I _like_ living in luxury, you know."

This time, she can't help but laugh at him, and he rolls his eyes at her.

"You're beginning to sound like one of those generic Capitolites," she tells him, twisting his previous words around in a manner that Tommy isn't sure he fully appreciates. She makes it up to him, though, when she questions, "What happened to living on the edge and never knowing what tomorrow will bring? You've never wanted the company for as long as I've known you."

He huffs and gruffly murmurs, "That was before we won the war."

Sil glances up at him and says in an equally quiet voice, "And are things so very different these days?"

It's a rhetorical question, but Tommy still responds with a frowning, "Sure they are. The Nightingale's spies have all broken up. We have no purpose anymore."

Sil hums thoughtfully at this and turns to stare at the ceiling. Many moments flash through her mind when she considers Tommy's words. Memories of times gone by – of shadows and hidden messages, information and secrets being collected and sent under the cover of an alias that is no longer necessary. They've shared many moments in their peculiar line of work. Many memories that, in this moment, seem like a world away.

"I suppose…" she begins, then pauses to turn her head towards the window that overlooks the ocean. In a voice burgeoning with happiness, she smiles, "I suppose that's the fun part, isn't it? Finding a new purpose."

At her side, her oldest friend follows her eyes to look at the ocean. It devours the horizon in shades of grey and blue; a force too expansive to overcome. There is only one thing to do when one is met with such a force. Overcoming it is futile, but falling into it and allowing it to encompass you? Well, it can be frightening at first, but the outcome is almost always worth it.

Tommy studies Sil for a long moment before he smiles and says, "I think your purpose has always been leading you here, to District 4."

Sil turns to catch his eye and smiles too. "Mmm. Where has your purpose been leading _you,_ though? The family company you've never wanted, or something greater?"

He shakes his head at her and sighs, "I'm going to miss you, Sil."

"…Me too, Tommy," she tells him.

It's true. She'll miss their missions, and Dorsey's shop, and her disguises and masks. She'll miss the nerve-wracking excitement of being the Sterling Nightingale. Of fighting for a cause greater than herself; for people who cannot fight for themselves. She'll miss it all, but she's gaining something, too. Something that makes up for all of the things she is now letting go of.

It isn't Finnick, or the newfound peace she has discovered since coming here. What she has gained is so much more than those things. It is something that she's always thought she had, until she had woken up one day in District 1 and realized that she was wrong. It's isn't Finnick exclusively, but something more than that. It's the newfound peace and the friendships she's cultivated here; the ocean air and the laughing jeers and the sense of belonging bridging over every single gap that still exists within her soul.

She's letting go of the Sterling Nightingale, but she's gaining a home where she truly belongs.

* * *

"Are you nervous?" Aurelian wonders, glancing over at Finnick with a raised eyebrow. Her voice is a bit hesitant, mainly because she's never seen Finnick Odair nervous before. It's a strange look, yet it does seem to be true. The way he's tapping his fingers against his leg as he loiters near the beach is telling enough.

Finnick barks out a laugh and repeats incredulously, "Nervous? No. I'm not."

Aurelian just smiles knowingly, and he shoots her a glower.

"Men, you're all the same," she says breezily.

"…I'm not sure I appreciate that generalization," Finnick responds, glancing around at the guests that have begun to arrive. The whole of District 4 seems to be here already, idling around the beach from here to the docks far in the distance. They're all waiting for the bride, same as him.

The bride. He takes a deep breath at the thought and clears his throat. He isn't really nervous. He wants to marry Sil. He wants to do it all again, properly this time, and be able to call her his without feeling as if he is lying in some respect. Before, marriage had been forced upon them and they had gone through with it because they hadn't had a choice. And while it hadn't been so terrible, in retrospect – probably because by then, he had already fallen in love with her, only he hadn't realized it – this is different. It's a million times different because it's real.

Aurelian smiles fondly at him and concedes, "You're right, Finnick. You're a far better man than I first thought you were."

Finnick pauses at this, raises an eyebrow as he looks out over the beach, and then tells her, "…I don't know if I appreciate that, either." His voice has a joking note to it, though, and Aurelian chuckles.

"I only meant – "

"I know what you meant," he interrupts in a kinder voice, glancing over at her briefly as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. "My reputation was…well." He trails off. There isn't really a need to produce a word that would properly describe his playboy reputation during President Snow's regime. His name had a weight to it then that had been untouchable and infamous. He hadn't been proud of that reputation, but there was nothing he could do to change it. He'd been trapped on all sides with no way out. Well, until Silver Lamprey Cornelius had pranced into his life and had brought the change that he'd stopped hoping for.

Aurelian sighs, studying his profile as he looks out over the ocean. Behind them, the whole of District 4 loiters around eagerly, chattering amongst themselves as they wait for 'Finnick's Girl, that Nightingale lady'. Around here, Sil isn't a byproduct of the Sterling Nightingale. These people see her as a human being first, and a war hero second. It's a startlingly lovely thing, really, and one that she knows her daughter appreciates.

Sometimes, it's necessary to cast off your old self; to remove the trappings that had formed barriers around you, which are no longer needed to vault you forward or to protect you. And, as Aurelian glances back at the many citizens of District 4, she realizes that around here, Finnick isn't seen as the Playboy of Panem, heartthrob and daydream, either. Around here, he's just Finnick.

"Your reputation is much different here," she muses upon this realization, and Finnick shrugs.

"These people have known me since I was a boy," he points out. "Before I ever became popular in the Capitol."

Aurelian smiles. "You and Sil are a lot more similar than it first appears, you know." When he looks over at her questionably, she explains, "You both wore masks back then. Now…well, you don't have to."

The corner of Finnick's mouth curves up upon hearing this, and he nods. They fall into silence, both listening to the crowd behind them and the ocean before them. The lapping waves are a constant sound, drifting in and out of their awareness like the gentle caress of a summer moon, bright and vibrant as it takes up the entire sky. It's silvery notes cascade through the air like a symphony all its own.

"How are you and Gemma settling in?" Finnick asks her after a few minutes. Since her return to society, he hasn't heard much about Aurelian Cornelius. There had been a brief article written about the Nightingale's family matters, some months ago, but in lieu of the rebuilding of Panem, it had been brushed under the rug. Sil had been just as glad for it and he can't blame her. What happens to her parents is of little concern to the rest of the country.

Sil herself has been kept informed of what her parents have been up to, though, and Finnick by extension. Last he'd heard, Gemma had hired some new workers to assist Hale with the daily upkeep of the estate, and they had all had a small, festive celebration to mark Aurelian's return to District 1. Sil had been a bit upset that she'd missed it, but with everything going on here in District 4, it had been difficult to rearrange their schedules to accommodate it.

Aurelian beams at him happily and tells him, "Oh, just wonderfully. It's a little strange, being back at the estate. I'm still refamiliarizing myself with Gemma's peculiar habits."

Finnick raises his eyebrows in amusement at this, and drawls, "Do I want to know?"

She laughs. "Oh, it's just silly things, really. I've forgotten how much he likes midnight snacks, and his walks around the estate, and how he loathes doing the accounting work. Ah, and his little pranks take some getting used to as well."

Finnick's eyebrows raise even higher, and she chuckles, "He thought it was hilarious to switch out the sugar for salt one morning. Ruined my coffee. Deplorable, really."

He laughs aloud at this and snickers, "I should remember that one. I can just imagine Sil's reaction…"

Aurelian hums knowingly and murmurs, "Just keep in mind that she's her father's daughter, Finnick. She's got a few tricks up her sleeves too."

Finnick grins crookedly and opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Peeta calls out, "Finnick! There you are. How are you holding up?"

The both of them turn to see Peeta strolling towards them. Upon seeing him, Finnick smiles and greets, "Peeta. Where's your Girl on Fire?"

He shrugs and glances over his shoulder. "I think she's still trying to enact revenge on Sil for forcing her to undergo a three hour make-over during our wedding." Peeta glances over at Aurelian and as he's greeting her, Finnick snickers at the image that these words conjure.

"She'll have to get in line. Johanna's pretty frustrated, too," Finnick informs him, and Peeta grins.

When Sil had heard what Johanna was planning to wear to the wedding, she had been horrified. Not that it's out of the ordinary for Johanna Mason to turn her nose up at dresses, but in Sil's mind, such an action is outrageous for such a formal event, and she had promptly rectified the situation by forcing her into one of the gowns she'd brought with her from her Capitol apartment some months prior.

Johanna's been griping about it all day even as she storms through the district looking far more lady-like than Finnick's ever seen her. Despite her successful transformation, the brash Victor hasn't been quiet about her complaints, and according to everyone else, Sil has been quite amused by them. Finnick wouldn't know, personally. He hasn't seen her since they'd rolled out of bed that morning to the sound of Effie's ceaseless chatter.

"I think Johanna secretly likes the dress, actually," Peeta tells him, and Finnick smirks.

"Fuck off, Mellark. I'd rather go naked."

Peeta raises his eyebrows and turns to face Johanna, who has suddenly stormed her way over to them. His voice is dry when he replies, "I really don't want to see that again, no offense."

"I think you look gorgeous," another voice cuts in. Johanna freezes for all of two seconds before her face falls into an expression of supreme annoyance, and she sends a sharp glower at Tommy.

"No one asked you," she says.

Tommy just grins at her, his bright eyes mischievous and gleaming, and she freezes all over again upon seeing them.

Finnick snorts out a laugh, then exclaims, "Ow!" when Johanna throws her elbow into his abdomen and snarks, "Shut it, Odair."

Off to the side, Aurelian just shakes her head with a smile and turns back to the ocean.

* * *

"You look beautiful, dove," her father tells her when she approaches the beach at sunset. It's packed. The whole district is here and Sil can hardly see two feet ahead of her in the crowd. But, when they see her, they part so that she can walk through, her arm linked with her father's. Walking between this crowd of people she now calls her own is a strangely powerful feeling.

Finnick is standing beneath the bough. When she sees him, a grin splits over her face. It perfectly mirrors his own – and her father's, when she turns to him to kiss his cheek and unlink their arms. Then, facing Finnick, Sil reaches for his hand and lets him draw her beneath the bough too. The waves that crash onto the shore only ten feet away is the only wedding music they need.

The affair is surprisingly short. There are no drawn out verses or detailed exchanges between them and the man who guides the ceremony along. It is nothing like the wedding at the Capitol. Then, Sil had been all too aware of the stares of strangers packed into the hall and the watchful eyes of President Snow among them, ensuring that they played their role to the letter. There had been a heavy feeling in her heart back then. She'd had to force her vows into existence, pushing them past reluctant lips. Her body had been buzzing with that reluctance. This time, there is only excitement.

Finnick reaches for her as one of the sailors approach them to bind their hands together in a mariner's knot. He winks at them as he pulls it taut around their wrists, and says aloud to the gathering of people, "Now they are bound."

Finnick's eyes shine at her. She bites back a smile.

A woman approaches them with a bowl of seawater, and Finnick reaches into it with his free hand, wetting his thumb and dragging it ever so slowly over Sil's mouth. There's a light in his eyes that makes her breath catch. Her lips tingle from his touch. When it's her turn, she mirrors his movements perfectly, drawing her finger over his bottom lip with a smirking look in her eye that seems to make him slightly crazy. His tongue darts out to lick his lip and she swallows tightly at the look he's sending her.

"Now they are marked," the woman calls, and retreats with the bowl.

The man presiding over them looks to Finnick and says aloud, "You may say your vows."

With a wide grin, Finnick catches Sil's eye and steps closer, grasping her hand tightly as he quietly begins the most beautiful set of vows that Sil has ever heard.

"_Now you will feel no rain, for I will be your shelter._

_Now you will feel no cold, for I will be your warmth._

_Any storm will be abated, for I will shield you from it._

_I will bear your burdens in rain and sunshine,_

_And keep you always from loneliness or pain._

_For your worries are my worries,_

_Your pain is my pain,_

_Your pleasure, my pleasure._

_Until my last breath I will love you,_

_And do my best to comfort you and care for you._

_This is my promise and my vow._

_May my nets come up empty should ever I break it."_

She gives him a watery smile and laughs a little at the tears that come unbidden to her eyes. Finnick chuckles too. Happiness like nothing she's ever seen glimmers from his eyes as he looks down at her.

"That was beautiful," she can't help but murmur at him, and he gives her a lopsided smile.

"It's your turn, sugar," is all he says in response, and she hums.

Inhaling deeply, she murmurs the traditional District 1 vows that she's memorized by heart:

"_This I promise you:_

_The mountains may come between us, but I will cut them down._

_The sun may scorch us, but I will be your shade,_

_You need not walk through darkness, for I will be your light,_

_In times of trouble, I will never leave your side._

_You are my mountain, and my sun,_

_My darkness and my light,_

_For my strength is your strength,_

_My happiness, your happiness,_

_My comfort, your comfort._

_I will love you until my last breath,_

_And never shall I be parted from you, until death parts us._

_This is my vow –_

_May the sands take me should ever I break it."_

She finishes on a sigh, words so soft that only Finnick and the nearest guests can hear. It hardly matters. These words are theirs. They belong to them alone.

Finnick squeezes her hand. The man before them smiles and says, "May the voyage of your marriage be prosperous, and the storms that come your way be easily overcome."

The crowd repeats the words, but – Sil barely even notices, because Finnick is already pulling her into him and tipping her head back with his free hand, and the way he kisses her makes everything fade into nothing.

* * *

The wedding feast is incredibly boisterous. Fiddlers saw around the tables with little care if people are dancing or not. The music is wild and raw and lifts up from the beach like the waves that crash over the shore nearby. People dance in the sand, kick up the water, hoot and holler with abandon as drinks are passed around and toasts are made in Finnick and Sil's honor – so _many_ toasts that she can hardly keep up with them.

Her and Finnick dance a little. They tip back glasses of the homemade brew that the fishermen hand out. They go around and speak to some of the Victors who joined them, and eat until they're full. But, to be honest, there have had so many parties this past week in preparation for the wedding that by the time ten o'clock rolls around, Sil longs for a bit of peace and quiet.

Unfortunately, sneaking out of the wedding feast is rather difficult when the entire district is invited.

"We could split up," Sil suggests as Finnick twists her around to the beat of the fiddler's latest jig. She has a feeling that the party isn't even close to stopping. District 4 is nothing if not thorough about their celebrations.

He gives a halfhearted shrug and says, "If we sneak out of here, they'll probably come looking for us."

Sil gapes at him. "That's – barbarous!" she splutters, then leans closer to him and hisses, "They can't just interrupt our wedding night!"

He chuckles and pulls her closer, hand drifting over her back to press against the silk of her gown. The warmth of his fingers makes her shiver. So does his voice when he murmurs, "I would have thought you'd expect some shenanigans from them by now."

She huffs. "Gracious. Shall we simply announce that we're leaving then?"

He shrugs again and drawls, "Not sure. I've never really been in this position before."

The blunt way he says it makes her roll her eyes at him.

"Oh for goodness sake," Sil mutters, and drags herself away from him to amble confidently to the nearest table. Finnick is honestly a little shocked at the way she steps onto its surface, leaning down to collect a glass of liquor from the nearest person and shouting for everyone's attention. The moment they see her, the crowd hushes down to see what she has in store for them. Everyone looks thoroughly amused at her perch on the table, something that she's sure is quite uncharacteristic of her usually demure self, but to be honest, Sil doesn't really care all that much. Peeta is right: she has changed.

"Thank you all for coming tonight," Sil says loudly over the many faces that are staring at her. She gestures at herself and laughs, "There's so many of you that I had to resort to standing on a table to make sure you all hear me!"

The crowd cheers a bit at this. A few voices from the back hoot at her.

"Finnick informs me that if we try to sneak out of this party, you're all going to come looking for us," she calls loudly. "So I'm here to warn you all that you'll be sorry if you interrupt my wedding night!"

The crowd breaks out into laughter. "She's got 'er head on straight!" someone shouts. Another woman yells, "Have fun, love!"

Sil laughs, raising her glass. Like a wave, the entire crowd copies her. The few that do not already have a drink in their hand rush to acquire one as Sil says, "I don't care if it's bad luck to toast to yourself!" Then, with a cheer, they all raise their glasses and Sil shouts, "To my husband, to myself, and to our marriage!"

Sil empties her glass and turns, only find Finnick waiting at the edge of the table for her. He's laughing when he lifts his hands to her waist, spinning her back down her earth. His grin is wide and encompassing and when he kisses her, he imprints it against her mouth.

"You know," he says, pulling away and taking her hand. "You fit right in here. You're one of us, now."

She snorts. "Gracious, what a thought." The sarcastic lilt of her voice doesn't reach her eyes though, which shine merrily into his as he pulls her away from the beach. Belonging to this district is certainly not a bad thing.

Before he can formulate a response that Sil doesn't really need, for she already has the answer locked away in her heart, she tugs him in the opposite direction. He was leading her to the cottage, but Sil has other plans.

"Where are we going?" he laughs as she makes for the other side of town. Sil just sends him a look over her shoulder – an expression full of dark promises and alluring desires – and Finnick's throat runs dry.

"You'll see," is all she says in response, much to his anticipation.

Their destination is several miles down the unpopulated beachfront. Finnick knows this district inside and out, and he's got a feeling he knows exactly where she's taking him before the house even appears in the distance. When it does, his heart jumps into his throat.

"…You fixed it up?" he asks, utterly shocked. The fishing house that was once in such formidable disrepair is now lit up with thousands of little fairy lights. Its once broken walls are no longer broken. The jagged sidewalk that creeps up the overgrown garden is redone, and the garden is not so very overgrown now. Even the windows have been changed out, broken panes replaced and pooling with the light that bursts from the interior. And if that isn't impressive all on its own, it seems that Sil had commissioned someone to expand the building from the desolate little two room shack it had been before into a much grander, albeit still small home that has several additional rooms. It's…well.

He turns to stare at her with an expressive look on his face and stumbles, "You even _renovated_ it?"

Sil's only response is a raised brow. She releases his hand and ambles forward with a smile. Finnick pauses only a moment before rushing to follow. He pulls her back to face him and opens his mouth, but no words can really describe what he's feeling right now. He's utterly speechless.

"Gracious, Finnick," she laughs, her voice light and happy, "am I not allowed to give you a proper wedding gift?" She tilts her head at him and he exhales heavily.

"…You bought me a house," he says, looking completely out of his comfort zone.

Sil just looks amused. With a breezy shrug, she points out, "You bought me a house too, if I recall. Besides, it wasn't that expensive."

She waves the matter away despite the little white lie that she's just uttered. The shack itself was not expensive at all. The repairs on the other hand… But it is no matter. She has the money to spend, and this little inlet means something to them. It's sentimental and silly, perhaps, but she just couldn't help herself. Plus it gives them the perfect getaway whenever they want some distance from the rest of the district.

Finnick still looks baffled when they approach the door. Someone had been by earlier to turn the lights on for them and to make sure they have enough food for the next few days, so when Sil steps inside, everything is perfect. She'll have to remember to thank those that had assisted her.

They walk inside. Just like the outside, the interior of the house looks absolutely nothing like he remembers. To his memory, this place has always been a dump – a relic of a bygone time that wasn't fit to revisit. But then Sil had come in with her startling ability to breathe life into everything she touches and –

"I love it," he tells her, throat tight with emotion. He turns to face her and pulls her into a kiss. Against her mouth, he sighs, "I love _you."_

And Sil, she just simpers, "I certainly hope so. You did just marry me for the second time, after all."

The reminder makes him grin. He pulls back just enough to shut the door, locking it for good measure. Then, turning back to her, he crowds into her space and swoops down to kiss her more solidly, taking her into his arms and groaning, "I really do love you, Silver."

She hums against his mouth and threads her fingers up his arms until they're tangled into his hair. The soft strands are windblown, like bronze waves crashing over each other. She takes great pleasure in messing them up even more. Finnick seems to enjoy the way she tugs at his hair, because the shift of sound that leaves his throat next is breathless, and when he breaks the kiss in favor of looking down at her, his eyes are warm and dark.

His hands drift to her waist, skimming over the soft fabric of her gown. As he gazes down at her, Finnick grins crookedly and murmurs, "Have I mentioned that you look stunning? I think my heart tried to beat right out of my chest when I saw you." He pauses, and then adds in a darker tone, "Actually, it's still trying to."

At this, Sil sends him a curious smile and leans closer, skimming her hands down to where his heart is beating. She presses her palm over it and focuses on his heartbeat as if she's trying to ascertain whether he's being serious or not. Then, with an exaggerated air, her eyebrows raise and she murmurs, "Gracious. I wonder what the cause could be."

Throughout her little show, Finnick's grin only widens. He supposes that the cause could be a number of things. The way Sil looks in her white gown, with her hair tangled from the sea breeze and her cheeks flushed from the walk to the cottage. The gleaming way she looks at him, as if her gaze is made entirely of happiness in its most undiluted form. The knowledge that she is well and truly his, in all the ways she hadn't been before, and that there are no pretenses or falsities creating barriers between their hearts.

He chuckles at her, eyes flashing, and steps closer to breathe, "I think I'm just agonizing over whether you're gonna veto our wedding night after all."

Or, maybe, it's the way Sil tips her head back and laughs with such abandon that she looks as if she's got some otherworldly aspect marking her countenance tonight – some angelic force of nature that is swept up in the shards of her joy.

"Gracious, but that is a frightening thought," she sarcastically murmurs, and he gives her a lopsided grin. She reaches up to smooth her hands over his dress shirt, playing with the top button, and hums, "This is our second wedding night, after all, so we really ought to make it count. I don't think we'll get another one."

Finnick just shrugs and jokes, "At this point, we'll probably get married once a year, the way things have been going." When Sil grimaces at this, he puts a hand on his chest in mock offense and demands, "What, you don't want to marry me again, Mrs. Odair?"

She stills for a moment as subtle surprise catapults through her. Perhaps it's because Finnick has never referred to her quite so plainly before, even back when she had legally taken his name after their forced marriage in the Capitol. Though he's claimed her as his wife in front of others before, he's never called her _that._ Mrs. Odair. What a thought!

"…Mmm…I think twice is enough," she murmurs, clutching at his sleeves with tight, grasping fingers. She's still a bit taken with the way he had verbally given her his name. Now, the surprise has faded, but an almost shaky sort of hesitance takes its place.

Finnick must see some traces of it in her eyes, because when he scoops her hands up into his own, his movements are the epitome of gentle. So is his voice when he says, "I'm afraid you're well and truly stuck with me now, sugar."

She can't possibly stop the grin from curling over her mouth upon hearing this. Nor can she stop herself from leaning closer and curving her body into his embrace, or sighing out as he brings her into his arms.

No, and – neither can she stop herself from whispering, "So I am," in a voice that sounds _quite_ pleased.


	6. In the seven seas you sail on

**Chapter Six | In the seven seas you sail on**

On their first wedding night in the Capitol, beneath the weight of forced vows and political moves, Sil and Finnick had tried to make the most of their circumstances by playing childish games meant to take some of that weight away. On their second wedding night…well, Sil has plans, and they don't entirely include forgetting about their first honeymoon. She's a sentimental creature, at times.

Finnick smiles into Sil's hair, inhaling the scent of the sea that has taken a hold of her, and keeps her in his arms for a long moment before pulling back and musing, "Now. How shall we start the night?" Then, wagging his eyebrows at her with exaggerated humor, he slides his hands to her waist and squeezes her playfully. Sil shoots him a mischievous smile. She pulls herself out of his arms before he can stop her and heads into the kitchen to riffle around in one of the cabinets.

The kitchen unit is tiny, with just a small counter space and two bar stools that barely fit at the equally tiny island. Still, it's furnished quite spectacularly, with a full sized refrigerator shoved between the end of the counter and the wall, a stainless steel sink that gleams in the light, and an oven that takes up at least half of the cabinet space. Despite this, though, it's all positioned in such a way that it isn't overly cramped, and apparently, it's all outfitted with the proper glassware and dishes as well. If Finnick is surprised that his meticulous lover has managed all of this in such a short amount of time – while wrangling the very outspoken members of District 4 to keep their mouths shut about it – well, he doesn't look it. Sil is a force to be reckoned with, after all. He knows that more than anyone.

"Should I ask what you're doing?" he wonders as he takes a stand beside the small island. She clearly has something planned, for she's gone through two cabinets now and is looking a little frustrated. He crosses his arms and watches her with a raised eyebrow.

Her voice is muffled when she mutters, "Just a moment…those blasted sailors…hiding it on me…"

He quirks an amused smile at this and chuckles quietly to himself. When she lets out a victorious _'aha!'_ and pulls out a tall bottle of whiskey from the lower cabinet, though, Finnick's laughter takes a different turn.

"Okay first of all," he starts, holding up a hand as Sil happily sets it on the island across from him, "you've made me very skeptical about drinking anything on any wedding night we share." She wrinkles her nose and opens her mouth, but he swiftly cuts in to add, "Second of all, you've clearly not learned your lesson about whiskey, sugar."

Sil's response to this is an immediate and very staunch, "I was perfectly fine last night!"

"I had to carry you back to the cottage. You kept going on about washing your hair," he inputs dryly, and she pauses.

"I'd have done that regardless," she declares, and sticks her chin up. "All that salt is not good for maintaining healthy hair, Finnick darling."

As if he doesn't hear her, he adds, "Either way, I might end up drugged and shipped off to District 13 again."

Sil's mouth drops open indignantly, but then she sees the laughing way Finnick is staring at her and she just _humphs,_ "We were in dire circumstances." Then, shrugging it off before he can argue any further (he looks about ready to), she slides two tumbles onto the island and says, "Besides, I thought it would be fun to play another game, and there is a sad lack of good wine around here so I had to resort to whiskey."

Finnick pauses, raises an eyebrow at her, and drawls, "I think I'd rather make you mine as soon as possible."

He is being awfully straight-forward tonight, and Sil immediately feels her face heat up at these frank words. There's an edge of a challenge in his voice that she certainly doesn't miss, and it's only furthered by the way his eyes flash at her from across the counter. She can't deny that she wouldn't mind exploring that particular avenue, but…well, their entire relationship has been so circular and convoluted that she also rather likes the thought of keeping to the course that's already laid out.

Besides, she has plans, and there's not a man alive who can stop Silver Lamprey Cornelius. Not even Finnick Odair.

Sil straightens out her shoulders and uncaps the bottle of whiskey with a huff. As she does, she says, "Truth or Dare would be boring, seeing as we've already done that on our first wedding night." He raises his eyebrows at her and watches her pour the whiskey into the tumblers, still not sure if he cares for how the night seems to be going so far, but also curious to see what his wife has in mind. He finds out when Sil casts him a gleaming smirk and purrs, "I was thinking a game of poker might be more…engaging."

His eyebrows raise even further, and in a slightly wary voice, Finnick says, "…I've seen you play poker, sugar, and it's scary."

Scary is, indeed, a good word for it.

Sil leans over the counter with a downright sinful smile and pushes his tumbler towards him. "I've never played strip poker before, though. I'm dying to give it a try."

Her eyes flash over his figure with such fire that he feels his entire body alight into a bright shiver. It must be fairly obvious, because her smile only widens as her eyes clash back into his, and Finnick's voice is a bit breathy even as he jokes, "Seeing as I'm a shit poker player, I'd say you were trying to get me _naked."_

Sil reaches up to cover her mouth as laughter overcomes her. The joking quality of Finnick's indignation is amusing to her, as is the way he seems so on guard at her suggestion. She doesn't know if he's really that bad at poker or just exaggerating, but she attempts to make him feel better when she leans back to gesture at her gown.

"You'd be an advantage, my love. You only need a few good hands to win."

Indeed, besides the gown, she's only wearing a few other articles of clothing. Surely he can't be _that_ bad at poker.

Finnick hums in speculation as he looks over her form, reaching out to draw his tumbler towards him. Strip poker aside, he's still not sure about the whiskey itself. He'd rather Sil be fully conscious tonight, because he intends on making it a night to remember. He makes sure to tell her this, too, when he drawls, "As long as we don't drink too much. I want to properly enjoy you."

Oh, he also enjoys the way Sil's cheeks blush prettily upon his statement. It's an endearing sight, especially after the many nights that they've shared each other's bodies since her arrival in District 4. They've been together more times than he can count, now, and yet she's still bashful about it. It's so incredibly captivating.

Swallowing back the wave of burgeoning desire that tries to set her off course, Sil sticks her hand out and says, "Deal," and Finnick gives her a skeptical look as he takes it. They shake on it as if they're bartering and selling, which is somewhat amusing to him even in the midst of his skepticism.

He really is a shit poker player, but then again, at the end of the night, he fully intends on ensuring that they're both naked anyhow. So, throwing caution to the wind as per usual, Finnick sighs, "Alright, fine. Bedroom, then?"

Sil promptly scoffs, "Dear me, no! You'd try to distract me. The living room is just fine, darling."

He sighs again. She's right, though. He _would_ try to distract her. That she knows him so well is both beautiful and somewhat impeding. He doesn't complain, though, when Sil shoos him into the living room, which is just as tiny as the kitchen and only has room for one loveseat, an armchair, and a sleek coffee table. Sil makes a show of dragging said table out of the way, shoving it over to the side of the room so as to make space on the floor. She sits down on the rug with a tumble of gauzy skirts and gestures regally to a small corner shelf.

"Get the cards, darling," she commands, as if she is a queen.

Finnick purses his mouth to halt the smile that comes as a result of her show, and goes to collect the cards as ordered. As it is, he doesn't entirely mind Sil doling out commands. She does have a way about her and, well, he's a tiny bit smitten. Plus he figures that the pros outweigh the cons in this case. At least, they will, once he's suffered through the imminent ruination of his dignity concerning his shit poker skills.

Ah, he really hadn't been exaggerating said skills, which Sil is rather quick to pick up on. Thankfully, he at least remembers how to play. He's quite sure that she'd be far more amused than she ought to be if he'd needed a bit of brushing up concerning the rules.

"Now," Sil says as she expertly shuffles the deck, "What shall the stakes be, darling?"

Pausing at this, Finnick repeats, "…Stakes? You're taking this too seriously."

She raises an eyebrow and deals out the cards. "There's always something at stake, Finnick. For instance, if I win, you have to streak across the beach without a stitch of clothing on and throw yourself into the ocean."

Her eyes shine at him. He releases his breath in a deep sigh, tips his head back, and jokingly bemoans, "I'm married to an exhibitionist."

As for Sil, she aims a kick to his leg that he barely manages to avoid, and giggles, "There's no one here but me to witness it. Don't be dramatic."

There's something very contradictory about her calling him dramatic (well, sort of) that he's quick to call her out on. "Me, dramatic?" he demands, sounding just shy of facetious. As he arranges his cards, he wonders, "Are those your stakes, then?"

She opens her mouth, pauses, then quickly adds, "Yes, and you also have to let me repaint the bedroom."

Finnick laughs aloud at this demand. The horrid green paint that he'd chosen for the bedroom at the cottage has been a frequent source of debate between them for several months now. In truth, he has nothing against letting her repaint it, but their arguments regarding the topic have been amusing to him, which is why he hasn't given her his official support yet. It's just so much fun watching her get all riled up about his refusing all her suggestions and proclaiming at length about how she knows what's best concerning all matters of décor.

"I don't know if I can stand behind this," he drawls playfully, and she narrows her eyes at him. "Having you watch me run across the beach naked is already hard enough without giving up that lovely green paint."

"It isn't a worthwhile bet if it's easy to accommodate," she breezily informs him, and then freezes when Finnick's eyes flash at her.

"Is that so?" he slowly wonders. The smirk he sends her is one that she knows very well by now. It tells her that _his_ stakes will be challenging to accomodate, too. "Hmm…if I win, you have to eat breakfast in the nude with me," he triumphantly tells her, much to her dismay. "And since you get two bets, you also have to let me take you out on a proper boat ride."

Sil's expression turns quite resolved at this, and he knows why. So far, despite having lived in District 4 for some months now, she's refused all offers to board one of the boats at the docks. He thinks it's probably more to do with her being stubborn rather than any lingering fear that she might have towards the ocean. Regardless, he'd still like to live up to his promise and take her out on a morning ride, with the sun at their backs and the sea ahead.

She _humphs_ and says under her breath, "I'm going to crush you, Finnick Odair."

And, though he thinks that she probably will, he still snickers, "Bring it on, sugar."

The look she sends him tells him that she will do exactly that, and it also isn't an exaggeration to claim that she succeeds, quite thoroughly.

"The rules are simple," she murmurs as she looks from her cards to Finnick, who is leaning back against the leg of the nearest armchair. "Whoever has the worst hand by the end of the round removes an article of clothing of their choice."

Finnick though, adds, "And pays the ante."

Sil pauses for a moment before frowning, "We've already made our stakes, Finnick darling."

He smirks. "Sure, but those stakes are for the ultimate winner. I think we need multiple rewards." In truth, he's really only saying that because he knows he'll likely lose this game. He hadn't been lying when he'd said that Sil is scary when she plays poker. He's only seen it a handle of times at the various Capitol parties they've attended together, but if she can hold her own against men twice her age and still beat them, well…he needs at least a few rewards to dull the pain of his imminently injured pride.

Sil, though, looks skeptical, probably because she knows that Finnick is going to take advantage of it. It's not necessary either, seeing as the true ante will be the clothing that is removed after each round. Leave it to Finnick to make things even more complicated…

"You'll try to distract me," she frowns. He snickers. Apparently, her fear of him 'distracting her' is more potent than he'd thought.

"Don't be a coward, Silver," he purrs, and takes great delight in watching her shiver as she sits there in the middle of the floor with her gauzy gown fluffed out on all sides.

She narrows her eyes at him and huffs, "Fine, we'll make individual bets for each round. But they can't have anything to do with taking off more clothes than already allotted." Then, giving him a look, she adds, "Or anything pertaining to the usual honeymoon activities."

Finnick's mouth immediately drops open to argue, "What about a kiss?", to which Sil responds to a pursed, "That's still distracting!"

He grins boyishly at her and hums, "Well, I'm glad to know that I can distract you so thoroughly with just a single kiss, sugar."

His words work. Couple with the arrogant comment, his eyes flash with a challenge that Sil is simply unable to refuse. His smirk only widens when she sticks her nose into the air and says with an air of practiced righteousness, "Nothing further than that. Now let's get to it already."

He hums in agreement, his still flashing with a mischief that he can't buckle down, for his high-class lover has failed to realize the core of his suggestion: he hadn't specified _where_ he might kiss her, should he get the opportunity. Distraction, indeed. He's good at playing games, too.

With a chuckle, Finnick looks down at his cards and, as he considers what he's got in his hand, he murmurs, "For the first round, my ante is…that you have to admit that you spend way too much money at Gigi's."

What's that saying? You've got to start small? In any case, it's enough for Sil to scoff at him and declare, "And my ante is that you've got to tell me when you first realized you were in love with me."

He pauses at this, glances over at her, and smiles. She fights back a smile of her own when he shrugs, "I call."

She eyes him for a moment, then rearranges her face into a proper poker mask. Then, after a moment, she says, "I'll raise you. And since we're not playing with chips, you've also got to make me breakfast in the morning. I want French Toast and sliced apples."

He shoots her a look and drawls, "Ah, right. Breakfast in the nude. I'm eagerly anticipating it." At her dry expression, he chuckles, "Deal. My raise is this: you can't wear any clothes tomorrow. At all."

Looking entirely disgruntled by this, Sil scoffs, "As if! _You're_ the exhibitionist, darling."

Still, she doesn't argue the higher stakes. Finnick deals out another card for himself, hoping that it'll be a good one, and disposes another, setting it into a separate pile on the floor. Sil does the same, expertly flipping a card from the deck to add it to her hand before she splays them out onto the floor with a calm, "Flush."

Finnick grimaces and leans down to do the same with a muttered, "Damn. Two pair."

Sil smirks at him. With an exaggeratedly morose look, he reaches up for his tie and loosens it before tugging it off, sending her a challenging look as he throws it onto the nearby couch. Then, loosening his shirt a bit, he sighs and throws his cards into the center of the floor while she gathers them up for another round. As she does, he thoughtfully murmurs, "The first time I realized I loved you? Probably when I found myself in District 13 with a blazing headache from all the drugs you'd pumped into my system."

Sil raises an eyebrow at this, looking somewhat chagrined at the reminder of this, and says in a baffled voice, "Truly? You realized you loved me after I _drugged_ you?"

He chuckles and points out, "Oh, I loved you long before that. It just wasn't until I found out who you really were that I let myself accept it."

She stares at him for a long moment, her eyes flashing with an indiscernible light, and then turns back to the cards to deal out another hand. As she does, she mumbles, "I suppose falling for my alter ego would have been quite embarrassing."

His eyes soften. For all her masks, poker or otherwise, Silver Lamprey Cornelius isn't so hard for him to read these days. He quietly tells her, "If you want to know when I _fell_ in love with you, it was probably around the time when I asked you to marry me before the Quarter Quell." When she tentatively looks up at him, he adds, "When you rejected my proposal, I think I might've been heartbroken."

She looks understandably shocked by this. "…It was a fake proposal though. One you were forced into."

Finnick hums quietly. She deals him his hand and he picks it up, but doesn't look at his cards yet. Instead, he stares at her with a soft look in his eyes, and murmurs, "My heart didn't know the difference."

Well. Speaking of hearts, hers is bandying around in her chest as if it means to burst straight through.

"…Gracious. You're a sappy romantic, did you know that?" she asks him, hoping that her voice isn't as breathy as she thinks it is. Whether it is or not hardly matters though. Finnick sends her a quiet smile that only makes it beat all the harder.

And then, of course, he's got to turn the tables on her when he slyly says, "Here's my ante for the next round: if I win, you've got to go up to Johanna and call her a landlubbing bilge rat."

Sil gapes at him, partially confused at the foreign terms but mostly shocked, because even though she doesn't know exactly what they mean, she still knows that it's an insult from the way Finnick snickers, clearly amused by his own bet.

Spluttering, she exclaims, "Gracious! What on earth does that even _mean?"_

He bursts into laughter at her flustered countenance and scoffs, "You're a sailor's wife now, sugar. You'd better start learning our terms."

"I'm not sure I want to!" she tells him, and the disgraced tone she uses only makes him that much more amused. She narrows her eyes at the way he snickers at her expense and says, "If _I_ win, I get to name your boat whatever I want and you can't refuse me."

At this, he stops laughing immediately and narrows his eyes at her, too. This particular matter has also been a much debated one over the last few months since Sil's arrival in District 4. Rory had been the one to inform her that Finnick had been waiting for her to pick out a name for his boat. Finnick had been somewhat embarrassed at the way his boss had jeered at his 'romantic pretty boy sailor' who was willing to play with fate by leaving his boat unnamed. Apparently, it's one of those District 4 superstitions. Having an unnamed boat is some sort of evil omen.

In any case, upon hearing this, Sil has been eagerly plucking potential names out of thin air for weeks now, but they've all been too girly for Finnick's liking. Now that she's here and that he isn't moping over her absence (in Rory's words), he's being far too stubborn about what is and isn't a proper name. In all fairness, 'Gigi's' and 'Sapphire' – her top choices – _are_ fairly feminine.

He opens his mouth to refute her, but Sil just ploughs on to say, "We'll check this round. Lay down your hand."

He glowers at her and mumbles something about how she shouldn't get to decide whether they both check or not, but just throws his cards down with a grumble. Sil leans forward to look at them and murmurs, "A pair. Ah, and I've got three of a kind. I win."

She looks extremely pleased by this. Finnick just looks exasperated and a little bit afraid.

"You can't choose a name that has anything to do with District 1, Gigi's, or fashion. I've got a reputation to live up to," he quickly demands with an expression that clearly reflects his own wariness.

Sil just smirks and shrugs, "I'll choose whichever name I like, Finnick Odair. Now take off your shirt."

Her order makes him raise an eyebrow at her as some of his wariness turns into amusement. With a snort, he leans back and shucks off one of his socks instead, apparently more interested in disobeying her orders rather than heeding them. At least, for now, his shirt stays firmly in place.

"Nice try, sugar, but _I_ get to choose how and when I strip," he snipes at her, and gestures for her to shuffle the cards. She purses her mouth at him and he holds back a smile at her obvious disappointment.

Yes, these days, Silver Lamprey Cornelius isn't very difficult for him to read at all.

"What's your bet?" she wonders as she shuffles.

Finnick hums, pausing thoughtfully before slowly saying, "If I win, you've got to take your dress off."

She gapes at him and grouses, "Excuse you! I get to choose how and when I strip, too!"

Finnick, though, just shrugs and drawls, "That's my bet, sugar. I guess you can always fold if you want. I'd _love_ to eat breakfast in the nude with you."

At this, Sil glowers at him and mutters, "Fold? Ha! If I win you have to go up to Katniss and dish out the dirtiest limerick you know."

He smirks at this, unaffected, and chuckles, "Sounds like fun."

They play back and forth like this for a while, drawing cards and disposing of others, making ridiculous bets and flirting around the occasionally challenging way their conversation progresses. Sil manages to win most rounds, quickly learning that Finnick had certainly not been lying when he'd claimed to be a shit poker player. Before very long, she's got him down to his trousers, having been on a winning streak since the start of the game. So far, she hasn't lost a single round.

Finnick isn't overly happy about this.

"You're cheating, aren't you?" he demands as he eyes Sil. This time, he doesn't have a terrible hand. There were a few times he'd come close to winning, actually, but she always somehow manages to have a higher ranking hand than him. The testament to this is the fact that he's only wearing his trousers and briefs while she is still fully clothed. Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to get her dress off yet, and it's making him impatient.

At his accusation, Sil sticks her nose in the air and scoffs, "Darling, just because you're awful at poker – "

"I am not," he cuts in, though Sil just keeps talking.

" – doesn't mean I would lower myself to such debasing methods!"

He gives her a suspicious look that she doesn't appreciate, and says, "If I win, you have to sit in my lap for the next round."

Sil opens her mouth, looking a tiny bit flustered, but ultimately rises to the challenge with a scoffing, "If _I _win, you have to cut your hair."

Finnick freezes, reaching up to muss his bronze waves with a reproachful look on his face. "What's wrong with my hair?" he demands. Sil snickers.

"It's getting a bit long is all," she shrugs. He scoffs at her.

She looks very pleased with herself, especially when she lays down her cards with a confident, "Full house!"

Finnick stares at her hand for one long moment before his mouth curls into a smirk and he victoriously exclaims, "Ha! Finally! Four of a kind! Strip, sugar."

Sil's mouth falls open in shock, clearly not expecting him to beat her full house and looking quite ruffled by it. As for Finnick…he leans back against the leg of the chair with a satisfied smirk, reaches over to take a sip of his whiskey, and waits. The burn of the liquor is nearly as satisfying as the sight of Sil's pout when she stands up.

"…Gracious," she mutters, hands fluttering over her dress hesitantly. Finnick grins crookedly – until, of course, she ends up shucking her skirts up just a little bit and deciding to remove her underwear, instead.

"Hey – that's not fair!" he immediately splutters, leaning forward so quickly that he nearly spills his whiskey. Sil just shoots him a raised eyebrow and bends over to slide her underwear down her legs.

"It's perfectly fair, darling," she purrs, and proceeds to sit down so as to get the underwear the rest of the way off. For a moment, Finnick thinks that it isn't so bad after all – the sight of her bare legs is rather nice – but then she tosses the underwear off to the side and rearranges her skirts, ruining the view.

He frowns at her. "This is torture. I'll bet no other man alive has spent his wedding night playing poker."

Sil laughs and sends him a wink. "Consider yourself lucky that you've got such a well-rounded wife, then, my love."

He just shakes his head and murmurs, "You lost, so come here, sugar." He pats his thigh and Sil hesitates all over again, no doubt worried that he'll 'distract' her. The smirk that curls up his mouth at this is very amused. Sil just sighs as if she's being asked to sacrifice something of great value, and crawls forward. Finnick's eyes darken as he watches her, but his expression quickly takes a turn into laughter when she ends up getting snared in her dress and nearly falls face first into his knee.

"Careful there, sugar," he chuckles, and heaves her into his lap with a grin.

She settles against him looking a bit frazzled, and sighs, "You'd better not look at my cards, Finnick."

He just snorts, "I think I'd rather look at your _other_ assets, Sil," giving her a thorough glance, and proceeds to grimace when she playfully slaps him upside the head.

They play another round, sipping their whiskeys and trying to keep their hands to themselves (their actual hands _and_ their poker hands). Sil, unsurprisingly, wins.

With a smirk, she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek and purrs, "Too bad, my love. Looks like you've got to take your trousers off this time. There's nothing for it."

He pauses, then turns to face her as he hopefully wonders, "…How about my belt?"

Sil, though, just raises an eyebrow. _"That's_ cheating, darling." And, just to ensure that she's being clear enough, she reaches down to fiddle with the zipper and breathes, "Shall I help you?"

He lets out a shaky breath and groans, "Not unless you want this game to end right now."

She grins vividly, but can't stop herself from leaning in to press a brief kiss against his mouth. The thought is tempting, really, but so is the thought of watching Finnick Odair streak across the moonlit beach and throw himself into the ocean. Ah, and repainting the bedroom is, of course, very good collateral.

"Mmm…I'm afraid I have too much at stake for that," she tells him, and shuffles herself off of his lap. Before she can, though, Finnick reaches out to stop her, hauling her right back into him with a heave of muscle and reaching up to drag her into a firm kiss.

For a moment, Sil completely forgets those stakes. The way Finnick kisses her, all deep and commanding, is enough to make her brain utterly fog over. She forgets everything but the warmth of his chest and the movement of his lips and the way his fingers tangle into her hair, holding her in place.

But then…

"Your trousers, Finnick," she whispers, voice muffled against his mouth, and he groans again.

"Truth or Dare was more forgiving," he bemoans, but this time he lets her go.

Sil chuckles, sliding out of his lap as she repeats, "Forgiving?"

Finnick just spears her a look as he stands up and lowly murmurs, "To my sanity."

Ah, sanity indeed. He does look a bit crazy, especially with his hair all mussed up from the countless times he'd run his fingers through it and his eyes all dark and passionate. She doesn't entirely blame him. She feels a bit crazy herself. The sight of him half-dressed does have an impact on her, though she makes a sterling effort at hiding it. When he stands up and slowly undoes his trousers, though, she's afraid that it isn't quite as easy to hide her desire from him. He sees it clear as day, and Sil knows it. She watches him like a hawk as he takes his sweet time in removing them, shucking them down his legs and kicking them off to join the growing pile of his other lost articles of clothing. What a state they're in!

"Satisfied?" he drawls, and tries to memorize the expression on her face, all hungry and eager. It's enough to make him shiver as the familiar brush of desire burns through him.

Sil hums lowly, and the burn gets worse.

"Very," she purrs. He swallows thickly.

He watches as she reclaims her spot across from him with an air of superior glee, and thinks that if this had been torturous before, it is most definitely worse this time around, because the way she eyes him makes him want to give up entirely so as to take her into his arms.

"Now," she says, and begins to shuffle the deck as if she's already gotten over his nearly-naked state, "This is the last round, darling. Are you ready?"

He purses his mouth. "Oh, I'm _ready,_ sugar." The innuendo in his voice makes her flush a bit.

"Don't be crass," she tells him, though it hardly does any good. Finnick just smirks wickedly at her and gestures for her to deal the cards. "No ante this round, since whoever wins has to fulfill the ultimate bets," she tells him. He doesn't argue. Breakfast in the nude and a morning boat ride (he shoulda made that in the nude too - ) are good enough for him. As for Sil, she's quite content with the idea of making him streak across the beach, which doesn't necessarily make her an exhibitionist! (Gracious.)

"Deal the cards, then," Finnick drawls. She throws them with an exuberant confidence and smirks at him. As he lifts his into his hand, he mutters, "I'm getting you out of that dress one way or another, sugar."

She laughs and rearranges her cards. "Mmm, well it is our wedding night and I do intend on having you at some point darling."

This breezy declaration makes his desire all the more apparent. It also makes him sarcastically reply, "That's good. I was starting to wonder."

She sends him an unimpressed look that he just smirks at, and they begin to play. After some minutes, Finnick throws down his hand and declares, "Straight flush. I win. I can't wait to eat breakfast without – "

"Don't be so hasty, darling. You've actually lost," Sil cuts in with a simper, and throws down a royal flush.

Finnick immediately pauses, then quickly leans forward to stare at her hand with a shocked expression. Sil smirks. He just gapes.

"Luck of the draw, Finnick my love. Fortune does favor me, you know," she purrs, and grins at his baffled face. Then, leaning back to eye him, she murmurs, "I suppose you've got to throw yourself into the ocean now. I wonder how cold the water is at this time of night." He's still staring in shock, so Sil adds with a snicker, "Also, I'm thinking of a nice robin's egg blue. For the bedroom, of course."

He narrows his eyes at her and playfully growls, "I'm going to freeze my ass off out there. I hope you're prepared to nurse me back to health."

Sil hums, eyes flashing. "Fear not, darling. I know the _perfect_ method to accomplish that."

If anything, her words only make him narrow his eyes even more. "I really hope so."

Sil giggles and stands up, fluffing out her skirts with a smug look. She catches his eye, laughs again at the dry expression he's sending her, and holds out her hand. He sighs before he takes it, but he takes it none the less.

Together, the walk to the front door. Finnick makes sure to unlock it before they step out onto the beach. Being locked out on their wedding night hardly seems like something he'd like to experience. This isn't, either, but a bet is a bet. Noblesse oblige, and all that.

The moment they're on the beach, Sil crowds into his figure, reaching for his briefs with a laughing, "Hurry up, Finnick!"

He barely manages to holds her off, grappling her hands before she can do any permanent damage and lightheartedly saying, "Alright, alright – jeez, sugar, I know you love me naked but give me a minute to work up my courage."

She pauses to raise an eyebrow at this and repeats, "Work up your courage? What have you got to be afraid of?"

He gestures to the water with a harried wave of his hand and exclaims, "It's freezing cold! I probably won't even want to seduce you after this. I'll be too concerned with not dying of hypothermia."

Sil bursts into laughter upon hearing these very dramatic words, which Finnick only partially appreciates (since he's only partially joking). The other half, which is entirely serious, just grumbles something about conserving his energy, and Sil only laughs all the harder.

"It can't be that cold," she chuckles, and traipses down towards the ocean curiously. "Why, I'm sure you're exaggerating, darling. Besides, I'll warm you back up – that's _frigid!"_ she yelps, dancing back from where the water is lapping at her feet. She tugs her skirts over her ankles lest the bottom of it gets wet, and exclaims, "Gracious!"

Finnick, unsure if he should be amused that Sil's optimism has gone wrong or wary about her claims that the ocean really is frigid, just stands behind her with his arms crossed, and sighs deeply.

There's only one thing to do.

"Move aside, sugar," he says, and leans down to kick off his briefs. Then, straightening out again, he sends Sil a roguish smile that makes her heart flutter, and declares, "I was practically _born_ in the ocean. This is no big deal at all."

Sil is, admittedly, impressed with this strong statement. At this moment in time, Finnick Odair exudes masculinity at its finest – bare as the day he was born in the rugged, untempered elements of nature, with the moon's fair light making his skin glow. Yes, she is quite impressed with him. Until he starts running into the ocean.

"Holy fucking shit - " he starts to say as the water laps around his legs, and then in his freezing state, he trips over something and goes flying headlong into the water.

Ah, it is a sight that Sil will never, ever forget.

When he wrangles himself back to the beach, shivering like a leaf in a hurricane and looking very sorry for himself, Sil is caught up in a fit of laughter that seems to have no end. She's crouched down on the beach with her head between her arms, laughing harder than Finnnick's ever seen. She's still chuckling as she stands up and walks over to him. Of course, when she reaches out to grasp his arm, her chuckles vanish.

"You're freezing, Finnick!" she exclaims, and proceeds to gasp quite loudly when he scoffs and reaches out to drag her against him, not caring in the slightest that he's soaking wet. She halfheartedly begins to complain about her dress, but to be honest, she doesn't really care that much. She's a bit too conscious of two rather pressing facts: one, Finnick is completely bare and he's got her shucked up against him in a manner that is making her heart shake. Two, he's shivering into her and, when she reaches out to lay her hands against his chest, she gets cold too, just from touching him.

"Gracious! You need a hot shower," she says, and pulls away to tug him towards the house.

"I need more than _that,"_ he mumbles to himself. Sil shoots him an amused laugh but chooses not to respond, and heads off to the bathroom to get a shower ready for him. As the water heats up, he hopefully wonders, "Are you joining me, then?"

Sil, though, just sends him a coy smile and hums, "No, darling_. I_ shall be waiting for you in the bedroom."

At this, Finnick pauses, and amid his shivering, he smirks eagerly and squeezes her waist. "Oh, will you?"

Sil giggles, "Mmhmm. Don't take too long."

Finnick laughs and jokes about it being the fastest shower in history. He isn't entirely wrong about that, either. The moment he's got some warmth back into his body, he gets out and starts to towel himself off. He's still running the towel through his hair when he steps back into the bedroom to see a sight that makes his throat run dry. He stops in his tracks and stares at Sil with eyes that are quickly growing hungry. Then, with practiced calm, Finnick continues forward and slowly murmurs, "Let me guess: limited edition, Linault St. Claire?"

At this, Sil laughs and simpers, "Gracious no! Linault's sworn off lingerie ever since the bad publicity of his last line. Honestly, darling, did you not hear about the scandal he was in?"

Finnick, though, has absolutely no interest in hearing about some famous Capitolite designer. Not when his wife is currently waiting for him in bed wearing a silk robe that he's quite sure is covering up a very skimpy set of lacy lingerie. After the loud wedding reception, the two mile trek down the beach, the lengthy poker game, and the fulfillment of his bet, he can think of only one way he'd like to spend the rest of the night.

"You don't want to hear about the scandal, then?" Sil asks as she edges backwards on the bed, giggling when he tries to pull her closer. After a moment of this, Finnick successfully wraps his arm around her waist and drags her against him with a heave of muscle, ducking down to kiss her very soundly. She lets out a breathless noise that makes his blood run hot, warming him up very thoroughly, and eagerly pulls him into her. She makes another breathless sound when he slides between the crevice of her legs and removes all the spaces between them.

"I'm more interested in this," he tells her, smiling crookedly as he plays with the thin strap holding the lace to her chest.

Head spinning from his attention, she wonders, "Do you like it?"

"Mmm…" he murmurs, trailing kisses down her neck and flipping open the front of her robe. He was right: skimpy lace. The sight makes him swallow hard and groan, "You look gorgeous."

Her breath catches when he slides his hand up her body, enjoying the feel of lace and silk. She does look gorgeous, mainly because he doesn't think he's ever seen her in lingerie before. As he hooks a finger beneath one of the thin straps, he muses, "This is a new look, sugar." Then, chuckling, he jokingly wonders, "Did you do this all for little old me?"

Sil, though already breathless, raises an eyebrow at him and somehow manages to sarcastically simper, "No darling, I did it for my _other_ husband."

Finnick pauses, raises an eyebrow too, and purses his mouth playfully. A gleam flashes through his eyes. "Your _other_ husband? I didn't realize I had competition," he hums, leaning down to kiss over the edge of the lace as it dives across the top of her chest.

Sil isn't entirely sure what game they're suddenly playing, but as Finnick lifts a hand to cup her breasts through the flimsy fabric, she arches into him a bit and playfully purrs, "Mmm…no need to worry, my love. He's just some fisherman I met down by the docks."

His gentle touch turns a shade firmer as he squeezes her with a scoffed, "Just some fisherman? I'm sure he'd have words for you if he heard _that."_

She giggles at him and catches his eye, loving the way his marine gaze twinkles into hers as he hovers over her. He looks amused, with a heavy helping of mock offense. She reaches up to capture his shoulder and drag him down for a kiss, and grins as he allows her to set the pace of it. Then, slowly moving her mouth with his in a way that reminds him of smoldering flame, she whispers, "I don't want words tonight."

He sinks into her kiss with a groan, fitting his body against hers with an almost desperate desire. He feels displaced, like a boat adrift in an open sea, bandied back and forth by tall waves that crest his heart. The contents of it overflow. He is left with the distinct impression of a happiness too great to put into words.

Skimming his hands over the lace that has so captured his attention, Finnick throatily murmurs, "I'll bet this fisherman of yours has never been with a girl in such racy lingerie. We're morally uptight people around here, you know."

Sil giggles, but her laughter is quick to turn into a moan when his hand slips between her legs to rub over the silky panties she's wearing. Her head tips back into the pillows, white-blonde hair spilling over the fabric as Finnick kisses and bites his way down her throat. He can't seem to get enough of her and it's invigorating.

"…Mmm…morally uptight?" she repeats with another laugh-turned-moan. She threads her fingers into his hair and hooks a leg around his waist, tilting her body into his. It's a silent plea for more, and he doesn't ignore it. As his movements turn a shade firmer, she breathlessly whispers, "…Are you sure…mm, that we're talking about the same people?"

Finnick chuckles into her neck. He can't stop touching her, but neither can he stop himself from continuing with their charade for a while longer as he lifts his head to catch her eye and smirks, "I guess I'd better figure out how to get this off…you know, so I can make sure that fisherman knows how it works. Teach him the ropes, as it were."

Oh, but the heat pooling in her gaze is enough to make him delirious.

Sil hums beneath her breath. Her legs fall open to accommodate him. When he hooks his fingers beneath the silk to feel her properly, she bites back a gasp as shivers roil through her.

"That's very…very considerate of you, Finnick," she manages to breathe, somehow.

The way he hums in agreement, studying her closely as he sinks his fingers into her heat – well, it certainly has _quite_ an effect on her poor, overworked heart.

"I live to please," he whispers lowly. His voice is sin itself. It skirts around the edges of temptation at its finest.

Sil smiles in the face of it. Her smile only widens when Finnick begins searching for a closure that will put him out of his misery, and fails to find one. His eyebrows crease in concentration. Curious, skimming touches become frustrated gropes, and even though Sil is rather disappointed when he decides to employ both his hands in his search, she finds that the payoff is worth it. The sight of her impatient husband makes her amusement brim to the surface.

"Doesn't this thing have a zipper or something?" he demands, slipping his hands beneath her back to feel for said zipper. Sil does nothing to assist him, and just smiles smugly as she lays there, looking far too satisfied. He notices, of course. It would be hard not to.

With narrowed eyes, he accuses, "You planned this."

She laughs. "I did not."

"You did too. What is this? A night of torture?" he mumbles, and turns to eye her barely clothed but still overdressed body with a longing gaze.

Well, torture is a bit much, but Sil does suppose that she hasn't made it easy for him tonight. Their game of strip poker had been challenging for her, too, especially the more rounds she won and the less Finnick had worn. It had been a lesson in self-control. This, however, is merely a slight oversight – one she did not _necessarily_ plan, but had of course considered. Gracious, but she does enjoy the sight of Finnick all riled up.

"I suppose that fisherman of mine will be relieved once you figure out this _very_ complicated garment, Finnick darling," Sil purrs playfully, and giggles again when he turns his aggrieved gaze back to hers.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds a bit petulant, and muses, "I could just rip it off."

At this, Sil's expression is wiped of her playful teasing. In its place, she looks utterly scandalized. "Rip it off? Do you know how much this cost?"

She sits up, then promptly squeals when Finnick grabs her and rolls her back down, laughing as he presses her into the mattress and skims his hands up her thighs. "Mmm. I don't think I want to know. It's no matter, though," he murmurs lowly, and hooks his fingers around the waist of her panties to tug them down, since they're a separate piece that is not attached to the rest of the lingerie. "I think I can still manage," he chuckles.

Despite her efforts, Sil shivers. She doesn't stop him from dragging the flimsy panties down her legs. Neither does she stop him from kneeling between them and spreading her thighs. He takes one look at her thoroughly ruffled self and jokingly hums, "Yeah, I think it'll work just fine."

And – despite herself – Sil bursts into laughter. Finnick is quick to join her.

"Are you quite sure?" she laughs. Until, of course, he lowers his body down to hers and she feels him against her. Amusement isn't her primary emotion, at that point.

He sends her a wolfish grin and whispers, _"Quite_ sure, sugar."

She shivers so brilliantly that he feels it against the entirety of him, and, well – he doesn't waste very much time after that. Of course, before he can test out whether it really will work or not (gracious, she has full faith in him), Sil slides her hand to the side of the lingerie, where a hidden flap of fabric is hiding the small, invisible zipper that holds it all up. Finnick raises an eyebrow at this truly mind-boggling feature, but ultimately doesn't let her unzip it.

Instead, he brushes her hand away and whispers, "Leave it."

And Sil – well, as he slowly enters her, she sighs out and does as he says.

* * *

Sleep seems not to apply to them tonight, for neither Sil nor Finnick get much of it. Finnick does manage to figure out the lingerie, though Sil doesn't think it counts since she'd helped. Anyway – between her ceaseless desire for him and his wish to make the most of their official wedding night, sleep is the farthest thing from their minds.

"Touch me."

Sil shivers and closes her eyes with a short, breathless laugh. "Gracious, Finnick. You're going to make me crazy."

His mouth curls up. With a hum, he leans closer, moving his hand to her leg to heave it up around his waist. His fingers are hot against her skin, and when they linger to spin circles against her upper thigh, shivers capture her body.

"I like when you're crazy," he tells her with a smirk, and then suddenly rolls over, pulling her on top of him with an abrupt force that makes her gasp. He chuckles up at her as he gets comfortable, and pats her leg. "You said you knew how to nurse me back to health. I'm still cold, you know."

It's a lie. In fact, his body is burning with heat. Desire licks through his veins, and any remnant of the ocean's chill has long ago disappeared. Sil obviously knows it too, but she humors him. It's rather difficult not to, with him looking the way he does now.

Tanned skin on full display, half-lidded eyes trained solely to her, and the jutting press of his desire making her insane.

Sil takes a deep breath around her own desire, which pumps through her with a ferocity she is no longer surprised at. Then, beginning to kiss down the length of his body, Finnick reaches towards her to push her hair out of her face as he watches her descent.

"…You know I wasn't necessarily talking about _that,"_ he gruffly informs her, but lacks the willpower to actually stop her. Several strands of her hair brush against his thigh and send shivers ricocheting through him. If that isn't enough all on its own, the sheer sight of her as she kisses and licks her way over his hip makes his head spin uncontrollably.

Sil glances up at him and raises an eyebrow challengingly. "You don't want me to?" she wonders innocently, but her eyes flash at him and he knows that his desire is very apparent.

He purses his lips. "That's not – _Sil_ –_ "_ he chokes, and curses as she brings him into her mouth without warning. She's hot and perfect and all he can do is twist his fingers into her hair and try to remember to keep his eyes open, because she looks so incredibly amazing and he doesn't want to miss a single second of it. Still, he wants more. He always wants more, but when Sil is doing _this_ to him, he can't really think straight.

He relaxes against the pillows and settles for watching her instead. There's no need to rush anything. He's got no intention of sleeping tonight, and from the eager way Sil is touching him, she doesn't either. No, but he does intend on ensuring that she enjoys herself, too.

"Sil," he murmurs, and sits up to capture both her attention and her body. He guides her back up so that she's lying next to him on her side, and rolls over to face her. She looks a bit confused, until Finnick reaches out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear and throatily whispers, "You don't have to stop." He grabs her hand to pull it back against him, and then twists his arm around her hip, fingers splaying briefly against her inner thigh before shifting up to her heat.

Her eyelids flutter. Finnick rather likes this position, because he's close enough to see every single emotion pass through her gaze. He's close enough to feel the length of her body against his and feel the shivers that pass through her form. He's close enough to kiss her, which he does.

As his lips slide over hers, Sil moans breathlessly against him and whispers, "I want you…"

Those three strained, barely heard words have the potential to crumble his willpower entirely. He has no idea how he doesn't let them.

"Not yet," he whispers back, and swallows her next moan as his fingers gently thrust into her. The breathless shards of sound that leave her throat is a symphony that he's addicted to hearing; a delicately yearning soundtrack that, by listening to it, makes his entire soul feel like its overflowing.

He spins pleasure into her intently, watching her closely and loving the way her expression crumbles for him with every pass of his fingers. When his thumb brushes over the top of her clit, she releases the most beautiful gasp. When his fingers sink into her heat to rub at her inner walls, the way she moans his name is enchanting.

"Finnick please."

His mouth curls up into a smile. He's never known a sound more gorgeous than the sound of her yearning for him.

"Not yet," he tells her again. He's enjoying this far too much to stop. He wants to press this memory into his mind until it will never leave – to never forget the sight and sound of her in his arms, body twisted around his, arching against him as her eyes flutter and her mouth parts. He wants to hold onto this moment for as long as he's able, and to fall into this torture until he can no longer take another minute of it.

For it is torture. Just the sight of her is torture for him. His self-control is a shaky thing when it comes to her, and every second that he's not inside her is a trial of the highest order. It's torture because she doesn't know it, but the shaky way her still-healing hands grasp his length is perfectly wonderful, and when she slides him against her palm and pumps him through her trembling fingers, the gentle caress is enough to make his body alight with shivers so intense that he can hardly breathe.

Yes – the most potent torture is often the subtlest.

Sil whimpers at him and frowns, edging closer to pull his length against her. She's a stubborn creature, made of wind and grace. She knows how to torture him the best.

"Silver," he growls, but doesn't stop her. How can he? Her heat is a blistering fire that scorches him to the bone, and the way she rubs him against her folds is far too much for his already fragile self-control to take.

She breathes out with a low moan and murmurs again, "I want you," and, well…

His willpower has never been overly strong. For her, it breaks and shatters again and again, like a crashing tempest in the open ocean, forever shifting.

Three words, and he's groaning out and pushing her onto her back. Three words, and he's drawing her hands away to replace them with his own. Three words, and he's sinking into her again and wrangling her wrists above her head, pressing her down with an adamance that makes her bite her lip and push her head back with a moan.

"Ah – Finn – " she groans, and he decides that this sound is far better. It is the crescendo of the symphony; the staccato notes that all blend together with such fast-tempered grace that it sounds like a single wave of sound. The notes merge, flying forward, and even though it is so quick and thunderous in composition, it perfectly reflects the sound of one's soul breaking free from all earthly barriers.

He moves over her like a wave, lifting her leg to bandy it around his waist and leaning down to press his forehead to hers. Sil grasps at him, hands fluttering over his shoulders and down his arms. She palms over his chest and delves lower to grasp at his lower back, pulling him into her with every downward thrust and sighing out every time he fills her. She doesn't know how it's possible to want him as much as she does, but she can't stop her body from coming alive in his arms and she has no desire to stop it.

She makes sure to tell him that.

"I won't stop," he responds when she does, breathless and gasping, and buries his head into her neck with a muffled, "I can't – "

She moans again at the sound of his shaky voice lowly murmuring into her ear, depositing his words against her skin. She feels him everywhere, inside and out. She feels his lips brush just so over the crux of her neck, and feels his breath against her skin, and as his body shifts over hers with earnest passion, she feels the slivers of his moans as if they are tangible things, ardent and weighty. But – most of all, she feels the way his soul crashes with hers, tangled together with such intensity that she thinks they might never part again.

"Tell me you love me," he whispers to her, pulling back to catch her eye. The depth of his gaze is as deep as an ocean and she falls into it without question.

As if she could ever deny him anything.

"I love you," she tells him, and he grins.

"Mmm…yeah?" he wonders breathlessly, and lifts himself over her to angle his thrusts in a different way. She immediately gasps as he fills her and reaches out to grab his arms, which form a cage around her head.

How has such a creature fallen for her? She wonders at the pleasure that he presses into her and draws her touch up his biceps to palm his chest. She lingers there for a long moment, grappling with the startlingly powerful desire that he can so easily draw from her, before gently pushing him back with a burgeoning smile.

His confusion at her sudden move lasts only a moment before he's allowing her to roll him over. The brief complaints that are ready to be voiced are even quicker to dissipate when he watches her pull her body onto his with an almost supreme expression, as if he belongs to her and she is merely reclaiming her rightful spot. It is endearingly amusing and it makes him chuckle.

"Tell me you love me too," she commands, and brings him into her again.

He hums out with pleasure as she begins to move over him. Her body is a storm and he is a sailor lost in the center of it – her eyes, the stars, glimmering above like a compass that guides him home.

Finnick squeezes her waist and, as she leans forward to press her chest against his, he reaches out to thread his fingers into her hair and deposit a kiss to her temple. He swallows around the pleasure that she's spinning into him and breathes, "I love you," and the answering smile she sends him is perhaps even more potent than the way it feels to be inside her.

Well, almost.

He doubts that there is a feeling in the world that is like this one, for it isn't just the physical pleasure that races through them, but –

It is everything he's never said, and everything he has. Quiet words pressed into quiet corners. The despair of the past and the hope for the future. The fact that Silver Lamprey Cornelius is finally, finally his.

Yes, it is everything.


	7. But I feel the north wind's chill

**Chapter Seven | But I feel the north wind's chill**

When Sil wakes up the next morning, it is to the gentle cascade of pleasure. The first thing her sleepy mind registers is the fire that burgeons through her veins and the pulsing need that fills the spaces of her body, like a dam holding back a rushing river. The second is the strewn sheets, the mussed up pillows, and the way her body is subconsciously arching into the air and her fingers are blindly grasping the headboard. The third, finally, is the fact that her thighs are shucked up around Finnick's head, and that the source of this intense pleasure is in fact him.

Her husband.

Sil's first reaction is to lift her head and stare at him, hand coming down to grasp his hair in surprise. When he raises his eyes to send her a mischievous, debonair look, it triggers her fourth reaction. Tugging him closer to her and rolling her hips into his mouth is something that happens to have rather severe effects on his own countenance.

"Mmmm…Finn – ohhh…" she babbles, arching her hips again. He doesn't stop her, this time. Instead of holding her hips down, grappling her to the mattress so as to maintain a sense of control, he merely changes his pace to accommodate her gentle thrusts, as if he is navigating a crashing tempest.

Sil throws her head back and shivers, reaching down to grasp him with both hands and throwing her legs open in wanton lust. She is vaguely aware of her own promiscuity, and entirely uncaring of it. Perhaps it is the manner in which he has dragged her out of sleep, and the way the pleasure of his touch feels ethereal and foggy as it clouds the recesses of her dreams and plunges her into crystal clear awareness. Perhaps it is something else – something too complex for her current state to understand – something that colors the lines drawn between their bodies and the gaps of their souls.

Love. What a transparently intricate thing!

Finnick absorbs every moan that flutters past her lips with vigor, immensely satisfied at the way she unravels for him so easily. When he had woken up to the sight of the morning sun haloing over her bare body, something inside of him had shifted in a way he has become rather accustomed to, as of late. Intimacy has always been a strange creature for him, harrowing and greedy, but with Sil…

Well. Being with her is like nothing he's ever experienced, and the desire that creases the folds of his heart is singularly potent, each and every time he feels it's touch.

He chuckles against her, inhaling the heady scent of her as if it is ambrosia. The sight she makes as she grasps his hair and pushes herself closer to her end is intensely satisfying in a way that his own body cannot deny. He'd like nothing more than to sink into her and make love to her again, but he needs to watch this particular saga unfold first. Every single second of this sweet torture is a second that he craves with every twist of his soul.

Her thighs press into the sides of his head, squeezing around him. He lifts one hand to caress her, spanning his fingers around the curve of her leg as his lips and tongue moves against her folds. His other hand twists up, reaching to untangle her fingers from his hair so as to entwine them with his. He presses her hand onto the mattress and she clenches down on it, holding onto him as if he is her lifeline in this sea of passion.

She can't hold off her orgasm when it shoots through her, and Finnick doesn't try to stop it either. Watching her shudder into the sheets and moan his name is invigorating. He brings her to a drawn out end that spirals her into dust and ash and breathes life through her body in ways she cannot describe in words alone. Luckily, lovers don't speak in such limited language.

When the tempest crashes to its halt, Sil breathes deeply, legs splaying wide as her body turns boneless. Her eyes flutter, unfixed and sightless. She feels as though she is there but not there, until Finnick crawls up her body and brings her back to reality.

The grin he sends her is extremely attractive on the contours of his face. It makes his eyes shine with such expressive desire that Sil is once again breathless in the face of it, and it's funny but – she wants him all over again, from the very beginning, always.

"Gracious, Finnick," she moans quietly, voice shattered as he gently lays his body over her own and leans down to trail a blaze of kisses over her collar. Her hands languorously drift over him, palming the taut muscles of his ass and dragging them up his back. The touch makes him shiver into her, and she knows why. She can feel the reason for his reaction burning against her thigh even now, hot and hard and entirely a reflection of his need for her.

To be perfectly honest, it makes her more than a little crazy.

"Mmm," he chuckles, just a breadth of sound that does silly things to her. He lifts his head to look down at her, taking in the sight of bruised lips and mussed up hair and dilated eyes. To say that she looks very satisfied would be a tragic understatement.

He honestly can't recall actually getting any sleep last night. They had both been preoccupied with each other. The nighttime silence had painted an almost surreal backdrop onto their new vows, and they had explored the qualities of it thoroughly. The memory makes him chuckle again and Sil turns to look at him, a question in her eyes.

He smirks. "Too bad our first wedding night wasn't anything like this one. I think I would've enjoyed myself."

Sil can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth. Their wedding in the Capitol had been a constant regret for so long. It's strange how quickly it's been altered in her mind though. Now, she looks back on it with a degree of amusement rather than sorrow.

She runs her fingers through his hair and watches him close his eyes, enjoying the touch. Hazy memories of their first wedding night filter through her mind. She recalls the tight corset of her pearl studded gown and the singular stillness of their hotel room upon entering it. She remembers feeling more at ease with Finnick than she'd thought, especially as the night has progressed. With a humming sigh, she tells him, "Well, from the way you kissed me at the end of it, it certainly _could_ have gone in that direction. If you hadn't collapsed on me, of course."

Finnick's desire is momentarily forgotten in wake of this. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion and says, "I don't remember kissing you."

He pauses thoughtfully and thinks back to that night. As he drifts through drunken memories of their game and the dirty limericks he'd told her and the great bed they'd rested upon, he does vaguely recall rolling her down and giving into the desire lurching through his heart. It's all a bit muddled, though.

Sil gives him a surprised look, then purrs, "No? That's quite a shame. It was a very good kiss."

She can't say she's entirely surprised, of course. He was strung out at the time, drugged so as to make his exit from the Capitol that much easier. At least, that's what she had told herself back then, but if she had been honest with herself, she would have admitted that it was mainly for her own benefit, not his. She had done everything and anything to avoid having tell Finnick of her true identity, so sure she was that he would be furious with her and never want to look at her again. How blind she had been! If only she knew then what she knows now.

Finnick narrows his eyes at her and edges closer. "Was it? I feel like I'm at a distinct disadvantage. Care to demonstrate it for me?"

Sil laughs and reaches up to palm his cheek. She hums, hooks a leg around his waist, and drags him down against her with an insistent force that makes the breath spiral out of him. In a coy voice that definitely doesn't help his cause, Sil breathes, "It went something like…this…" and as she speaks, she brings his head down and kisses him, very thoroughly.

The tides of their conversation are lost in the pass of their lips. Before Finnick can even consciously follow the turn of events, his body is pressing against hers, hips thrusting and grinding into her as passion once again takes precedence. It bolsters through them like flags waving in the wind, snapping through a hurricane of desire. He can't possibly stop himself from slipping into her and filling her with him. Can't stop the intense satisfaction he feels when, in doing so, he claims her as his own once more.

And she is his, finally. It's a thought that spurs him forward as he adjusts his weight over her, breaking their kiss in favor of leaning over her and filling her again and again. Each thrust makes her breath shatter against his, makes her eyes shine so intensely that he can look at nothing but her face. He loses himself to her like that, hips spluttering together like vagabond stars unmoored from their constellations. He can't stop, and he doesn't want to, so instead he just falls.

He presses a moan against her neck when he comes, and Sil just absorbs it as if it's the most beautiful sound she's ever heard, cradling him against her as he lays his head against her breasts and breaths out a sigh of bone-deep satisfaction.

"We're pretty lucky, you know," he murmurs against her after a while, legs tangled and sheets dragged to the very end of the bed, lost and forgotten.

His words make Sil hum and wonder, "What do you mean?"

She supposes that they're lucky in many ways, the least of which being the fact that they were afforded a real wedding at all. But Finnick doesn't like being serious if he can help it, and his response is far simpler than she expects. Far more amused, too.

He glances up at her and grins mischievously. "…I fully expected some of the dock workers to show up last night and cajole us, but they didn't. I think your threat worked."

At this, Sil gives him a horrified look. "They were _actually_ planning on interrupting us?"

She'd rather thought they were just joking about that…

At her expression, Finnick bursts into laughter. "It's tradition," he informs her, laughing even as he sits up and throws his legs over the edge of the bed.

For a moment, Sil is taken off guard at the frankly sinful way he lifts his arms and stretches, body taut and bronze skin glowing. And then that moment passes, and his words make her sit up too in a flurry of pillows.

"Tradition!" she scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Gracious, the people here are _insane."_

Finnick laughs again and sends her a jaunty wink over his shoulder.

"You know what else is tradition?" he innocently asks her, and judging from the gleam in his eyes, Sil knows that she ought to brace herself for whatever is about to leave his mouth. She raises a challenging eyebrow at him and he smirks, "Eating your first breakfast as a married couple completely naked."

He waggles his eyebrows at her and Sil gives him an exasperated look.

"Seriously?" she dryly asks, knowing that he's joking about the tradition part, but that he's being utterly serious about everything else. What is it with him and eating naked?

Finnick gives her a hopeful look and stands up, smirking wider when she drags her gaze thoroughly over his body in a very appreciative manner.

"French Toast and sliced apples, right? Don't get dressed," he says, pointing at her as if he's giving her an order. Then with a cheerful smile, and adds, "In fact, don't move at all. You look perfect right now."

Sil rolls her eyes, but can't stop the smile from overtaking her lips.

"You're insufferable," she tells him idly, not meaning a word of it.

Finnick just tilts his head and nods sagely. "I am," he agrees.

Of course, he isn't so insufferable that Sil denies him his wish. She supposes that it couldn't really hurt, eating breakfast naked, and besides, the hopeful look on his face is far too precious to ruin today.

It is a very special day, after all. Still, at first it is _quite_ awkward for her, despite this.

"Finnick, stop staring at me," she demands with a huff, glowering at him from across the small table that's shoved into the corner of the tiny kitchen. It's laden with French Toast and sliced fruit, glasses of orange juice and croissants. A perfect breakfast, in her humble opinion. If only her husband would stop staring at her chest, she might actually enjoy it.

Finnick holds his hands up in surrender. As he swallows a mouthful of his French Toast, he innocently says, "I can't help it!"

Sil, thoroughly unimpressed, trills, "Well try. You're making me want to eat in the living room. _Away_ from you."

He pouts dramatically and just pushes the plate of fruit towards her in hopes of distracting her. Still, he can't possibly stop himself from looking over at her figure, taking in her mussed-up hair as it tumbles down her shoulders. She looks gorgeous this morning, with the sun haloing around her and her eyes glimmering like emeralds. The peculiar circumstances of their breakfast have made her cheeks a bit flushed. She looks very different from the carefully put together woman of her past, in so many ways that Finnick can't stop looking at her. It's a natural response that isn't so easy to shake.

Sil, naturally, notices this. She curls her arms over her chest and complains, "Finnick!"

His mouth curls up. It takes more willpower than it should to lift his gaze from her and turn it to the open window beside them. "Ah – just relax, sugar. See? I'm not staring at you now."

Sil is still glowering when she awkward reaches for another apple slice. Finnick watches her from the corner of his eye, even as his gaze is trained on the sea.

"…How can I relax when you look like _that?"_ she mutters, and the shuts her mouth with a snap and blushes.

Finnick smirks widely. He turns back to face her with that crooked smirk pulling up the edges of his mouth, and drawls, "Oh? Would you rather have _me_ for breakfast, Silver?"

She rolls her eyes at him, but the blush that's still spreading over her cheeks rather counteracts it. Finnick snickers and leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he lifts his coffee mug to his lips. Their eyes clash; a firestorm of unspoken affection and barely voiced desire. He feels himself smiling wider at the look he sees in her gaze.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say that she doesn't entirely mind eating breakfast in the nude after all.

Sil sighs and grumbles, "I'm only doing this because the ocean was colder than I realized and I feel bad about nearly giving you hypothermia."

Well, it's half true, anyway. The ocean _was_ colder than she'd thought. She might have made a different bet during their poker game last night had she known this. Then again, she might not have. It was a rather hilarious sight – one that summons an amused laugh even now, as she thinks upon it.

Finnick scoffs, but doesn't sound very upset when he airily responds, "Don't worry – you warmed me up pretty fast. All my faculties were in working order."

She sends him a raised eyebrow. Indeed, his 'faculties' were in _fine_ condition. He chuckles at her expression and hums, dropping his gaze back to her bare form with an earnest look.

"…Of course, I still might get hypothermia later on. We should take further precautions just in case," he nods to her, and Sil giggles.

She leans back in her chair, feeling a bit less awkward to have Finnick's eyes on her than she had before. Their playful banter does strange things to her resolve, and quite suddenly, she feels oddly powerful as she sits in the kitchen without a stitch of clothing on. Almost as if this is some sort of diluted power play; another game set in motion between them, like pieces of a chessboard strewn into place.

"Do you think the ocean is still that cold?" she wonders, glancing out of the window, which is pulled open to accommodate the sea breeze as it shifts into the room.

The sight she is met with is one that she doubts she'll ever tire of. The ocean stretches far into the horizon, glimmering like blue sapphire against the shine of the sun. She is used to the vastness of the desert, but there is something different about that of the ocean. Something far more invigorating.

Across from her, Finnick shrugs and reaches for an apple slice. He bites into it and, as he chews, murmurs, "It's probably better now that the sun is warming it up. Why? Fancy some skinny dipping?" The hopeful tone of his voice makes her sigh at him, shaking her head as if he's trying her patience. He purses his mouth to stop his laughter.

"Finnick, we're only two miles away from the district," she reminds him, "and knowing these people and your ridiculous traditions, I have absolutely no intention of going skinny dipping with you."

He deflates with disappointment, but perks up after a moment to muse, "You said the same thing about eating breakfast in the nude, and yet here we are." With a bright smirk and a flashing gaze, he drawls, "You're not as proper as you want everyone to think you are, Silver."

She huffs at this speculation (it is _only_ a speculation – ) and breezily chimes, "Anyway, you seem to have forgotten that there's such a thing as a _bathing suit."_ She crosses her arms and waits for his response to this, which comes rather quickly and quite staunchly.

Crossing his arms too, Finnick declares, "And you seem to have forgotten that this is our _honeymoon_. All forms of clothing are officially banned."

Her mouth drops open. "Banned?!" she exclaims.

He nods with a smug smile and repeats, "Banned."

For a long moment, they both stare at each other in challenge. And then –

Sil breaks out into laughter, Finnick starts chuckling, and the pair of them spend the rest of breakfast playfully bantering back and forth about this so-called clothing ban and what, exactly, it entails.

They do go swimming though, later that afternoon when the sun has warmed the ocean enough to make it bearable, and –

Well, regarding the matter of skinny dipping, perhaps that is a story for another time.

* * *

It happens later, the cajoling. Sil doesn't know why she's surprised. She's gotten to know the people of District 4 very well over the last few months since she'd officially moved in, but even so…

They have despicable timing.

"Mmm – Finnick, did you hear that? Oh don't stop – " she breathes, legs tangled around his waist as he pushes into her. She couldn't say how many times they've been in this very same position over the course of the day. True to his word, Finnick hadn't let her get dressed. They'd eaten breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the nude, much to Sil's exasperated amusement. Every time she'd reached for her robe, he'd give her the expression of a lover scorned, perfectly exaggerated to such an extent that she'd just sigh and toss her robe away. She hadn't put up that much of a fight, really. Finnick is utterly breathtaking without clothes on.

He grunts into her neck and, as she commands, doesn't stop. But he does tilt his head at the rather strange sound coming from outside. It sounds almost like trees hitting the window in a heavy storm, except…

There are no trees around this house.

He frowns at the oddity, but to be perfectly frank, it's a bit difficult to think about anything but the clenching heat of her and the way she feels so good around him. His hips splutter against hers, firm thrusts guiding them onward, and mumbles, "It's probably nothing," into her ear.

Sil doesn't answer. She's far too swept up in the possessive way he makes love to her, pressing her into the mattress and groaning her name. He is a flawless blend of gentle reverence and fierce passion; a maelstrom of power that makes her unravel so easily, despite the many times she has unraveled today already.

She's sinking back into the bliss of his touch when the sound drags her abruptly back into the present once again, and this time, it's coupled with the muffled noise of what almost sounds like rowdy laughter. It definitely catches her attention, and makes the drizzle of her passion melt away far too quickly for Finnick's liking.

She sits up, pushing him off of her with a horrified expression painting the creases of her face, and exclaims, "Those damned sailors! You were right!"

Finnick groans and rolls off of her. He's thoroughly unsatisfied, but he also knows Sil well enough to realize that until this situation is dealt with, she isn't going to do anything to fix _that_ particular tragedy.

"Just ignore them," he mutters, weakly attempting to turn her mind back to what he feels is the more dire element of their current situation. Even as he tries, though, he can see that it won't work.

Sil turns to him, wrinkling her nose and demanding, "Go tell them to find some manners!"

And – despite the terrible ache that pervades his body and the intense desire he is currently battling with, Finnick can't help but snort with laughter. He gives her a dryly amused glance and murmurs, "Manners? Sailors don't know what that word even means."

Sil frowns at him and he sighs.

With a groan, he rolls up and mutters, "Fine. It won't do any good though. It's trad – "

"I don't bloody care what it is," Sil cuts in with a fierce scowl, and reaches over to blindly search for her robe. As she's tugging it vindictively over her figure, she trills, "It's _crass_ and _rude!"_

As Finnick mourns the fact that her robe is far too modest for his liking, Sil glowers at the window with a determined expression. At least she'd had the foresight to close the shades when it had started getting dark. Not that the thought helps to lessen her annoyance. Honestly! She had just been starting to feel the beginnings of what was sure to be a very satisfying finish!

She idles there for a moment, and then glances at Finnick with an annoyed, determined expression before proceeding to stomp to the door herself. Finnick swiftly curses at her abrupt exit and dives for his pajama pants, nearly tripping as he pulls them on and moves to follow her. He's a bit too late, though.

Sil moves through the house quickly, tears the front door open, and strides out onto the beach without so much as a backward glance at her stumbling husband. Once she finds the source of her ire, a small group of five or so men who she recognizes from the docks, they immediately start hooting at her and nudging each other immaturely. She is not impressed.

"_What_ is going on here?" she demands, tightening her robe with an angry flourish and eyeing the men with dark intent. They quiet for a moment, no doubt swept away by the sheer fury of her voice – until, of course, Finnick flounders onto the scene, still trying to straighten his pants. The sight he makes – hair going every which way, eyes muddled, clearly struggling with his clothes – sends them all right back into their loud and uproarious mirth.

"Ooo, lover boy's been thoroughly ravished, hasn't he?" one of the hollers, much to Sil's dismay. He nudges his friend and laughs, "Our siren's probably not let him out of bed all day!"

A wave of laughter quickly follows the words, along with a loud, "He's already forgotten how to put his pants on!"

The hooting guffaws make Finnick smirk, crossing his arms with an agreeable shrug and sending Sil a leering sidelong glance.

"It's true," he says after a moment, smirking wider when Sil turns to give him a warning glare. Naturally, he ignores it. With a cringing laugh, he jokes, "She's kept me holed up for hours. I've become her willing slave." He winks at her, amused at the way she immediately blushes at his wanton words.

The others only laugh all the harder, clearly well on their way to inebriation as Sil watches them pass a bottle of what's probably whiskey around. One of them snorts, "Lucky man," as he takes a deep sip.

Meanwhile, Sil glowers at Finnick and hisses, "What are you doing?"

He shrugs. "You should've stayed inside. This is men's talk."

Oh, he's well aware that the words infuriate her. In fact, a large part of him only says them because he's so completely addicted to the way her green eyes gleam with her anger. But another part of him is being entirely serious. Her coming outside like this has only sparked the wayward sailors all the more. It would've been easier to send them on their way if she hadn't so brazenly decided to take matters into her own hands. Sil crosses her arms and glares at him, and he feels a little masochistic at the fact that his desire for her only seems to grow exponentially at the sight of it.

With a deep frown, she turns to glower at the sailors and snidely says, "Go home and leave us be."

Finnick sighs. The sailors laugh.

"I'll bet she's planning on doing more unnatural things to him the moment we leave," one of them chuckles, sending Sil a wink for good measure. They don't make a move to leave, and Finnick turns to Sil with an exasperated look.

He grasps her shoulder and turns her towards him, murmuring, "Go inside, sugar. Let me deal with this. I won't be long."

His voice is almost imploring. Sil stares at him hard for a moment, until she deflates and mumbles, "Fine." She isn't accustomed to taking orders, but this time around, she won't argue. She turns back to the house. As she's shutting the front door, she vaguely hears Finnick telling them to get their sorry selves back to their homes – in so many words – but she shuts the door before she hears his entire speech. She's too annoyed to linger. Instead, she trudges through the house, and her scowl grows deeper the longer she stews in her aggravation. When Finnnick returns ten minutes later, it's reached boiling point.

He shuffles inside and closes the door behind him. It's blessedly silent on the beach, with no hooting laughter or jokes that she can hear. She leans against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed over her chest, and eyes him shrewdly. Beneath the hard planes of her gaze, Finnick clears his throat.

"Well," he says, glancing up at her. From her expression, he can tell that she's still annoyed. The sight of her anger sets a fire against his heart. He feels a very real, very strong pulse of desire shoot through him when he locks onto her glimmering eyes. He wonders if he should be concerned about the fact that her fury is arousing to him.

Sil raises a sharp eyebrow at him and brusquely inquires, "Are they gone?"

He watches her carefully as he responds, "Yes. We're alone."

The weight in his words captures her then. Despite the fact that they've been alone for the entire day, locked up in this house with each other for company, it still feels new and strange and invigorating to hear him say it aloud. She sniffs haughtily and pushes her nose up, ignoring the thought for now.

"Good. I'm taking a shower then," she pushes off from the counter and heads back to the bedroom, only for Finnick to catch her arm as she passes him.

He sends her a suggestive smile and shuffles closer, murmuring, "Want a hand?" The way he says it makes it rather clear what sort of _hand_ he's offering, and it's got little to do with washing. Sil rolls her eyes.

She drags her arm back and snorts, "No." Then, without further explanation to her rejection, she strides to the room and shuts the door on him.

Finnick frowns, tilting his head in confusion as he stares at the closed door. Sil's anger is startlingly lovely, at least to him, yet he's starting to think that perhaps it isn't just directed at those wayward sailors after all. Is she mad at him?

Feeling lost, he wanders over to make some tea. He hears the shower turn on in the other room as he starts heating the water, and once more turns his eyes to the bedroom door with pursed lips. He thinks this is a little ridiculous, really. They've been officially married a grand total of one day, and they're already fighting.

He makes two cups as a peace offering. For what, he's not sure. That woman confuses him on his _good_ days.

When she appears a while later, dressed in a nightshirt and her robe with her hair tousled and damp, she doesn't do anything except take the tea and bring it to her lips, not saying a single word. Instead, she heads over to the patio to poke her head outside and make certain that they are, indeed, alone again.

Finnick dryly wonders, "Don't believe me?" He watches her back with an unimpressed glower.

With far too much honesty, she trills, "Not really, no." Then, glancing back at him, Sil wrinkles her nose and snarks, "After all, you're full of _men's talk_ tonight."

He gapes at her, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline as he grapples with a sudden revelation. With her bright eyes gleaming expressively, Finnick's got the strangest feeling that _this_ is what she's annoyed about. He sets his tea down, stares at her for a moment, and then can't stop himself from bursting out into laughter and throwing his head back.

"Oh God, Sil," he mumbles through his laughter, "are you really mad about that?" He snickers, shaking his head, and is about to say something more when he hears the patio door click shut loudly, and he falls silent at the sight of Sil's angry expression being directed at him.

The force of it pins him right where he is. He pauses, swallows back the raw burn of arousal, and wonders at his own senses. He decides that he should definitely be concerned about the fact that his pants are getting very tight at the sight of her anger.

Sil glares at him, sets the barely touched tea down on a nearby table, and starts walking back to the bedroom. He doesn't let her get very far though.

His strides are long and determined when he catches up to her, snatching her arm before she can hide herself away again and saying, with no shortage of exasperation, "It was just talk, Sil. I was just trying to handle the situation – "

She turns on him and demands, "And do you often _talk_ about me like that to your friends?"

The question immediately has him snapping his jaw shut. He stares at her with wide eyes, surprised that she would ask such a question, and thinks back at what he had said to those wayward sailors. It hadn't been _that_ bad. They _have_ been holed up in this house for hours, and he _has_ become her willing slave. He'd do anything for her, without hesitation. He'd sell his damned soul for her. In fact, as he stares into those beautiful, irate green eyes, he thinks he probably already has.

His silence has her wrinkling her nose at him and pulling her arm back, but once again, he doesn't let her get very far. Before she can slip from his grasp, he gently pulls her towards him and softly murmurs, "No. I don't talk about you to my friends, not in _that_ way. I would never do that."

He knows well enough not to treat this conversation with any sign of amusement. His face is perfectly serious, his eyes solemn and far different than they had been moments before. Sil stares at him hard, and after a brief second, she swallows, looking down at the hands that hold her shoulders.

Finnick sighs. "Sil…honestly. You crazy, stubborn woman. Why would you think that?"

She glowers up at him. In a petulant voice, she says, "I've no idea what sort of _men's talk_ you engage in when I'm not around." Then, giving him a narrowed look, she adds, "You do have a tendency towards bragging about your exploits, darling."

The words make the corners of his mouth twitch up before he can tamper the smile down. It only makes Sil narrow her eyes that much more, and he hurries to say, "Yeah, okay, maybe but – you're not an _exploit,_ sugar. You're my wife. Whatever…_situations_ we find ourselves in stays between us."

His eyes are so honest that she can't really argue, and just puffs out her cheeks. He smiles down at her and steps closer, pulling her into the circle of his arms and murmuring, "Why would I want to share the memory of you with any other man? You're _mine,_ Sil."

She closes her eyes, feeling a tiny bit ridiculous for a brief moment – until, of course, her emotions go a little haywire when she feels the telltale sign of his erection against her hip. And then, naturally, her thoughts turn to other topics entirely.

She pulls back and splutters, "Finn – "

He cuts in with a swift and strangely hoarse, "Let me have you again, sugar. You make me crazy."

Wide eyed, she pulls away and looks down at his body. His very aroused body. She wonders how she could have missed the sign of his desire. It's so clear to her now, blazing through his eyes and harrowing out his breath.

He edges closer, pushing her against the wall with dark, gleaming eyes, and lowly murmurs, "I can't get enough of you."

A harsh shiver catapults through her at both the tone of his voice and the expressive way his gaze latches onto hers. That, and the sinful manner in which he's trapping her against the wall has her legs shaking in an increased effort to remain upright. Gracious.

She thinks back on the recent moments between them. The annoyance she had felt, the honesty she had managed to drag from him, the angry light of her emotions, which had triggered something in him that she suddenly wants to explore more of. How very curious.

Tilting her head back, Sil raises an eyebrow at him, her previous annoyance forgotten in wake of this fascinating new discovery. If she's not mistaken, Finnick seems to appreciate her anger. She's not sure why, but she isn't about to let this opportunity go to waste.

"…Finnick, my love," she slowly murmurs, reaching up to palm his bare chest. Her eyes flash at him and he swallows. The sight makes her own arousal burst forth, yet again. "…Since you're being so honest, I wonder if you can clear something up for me."

He hums, raising an eyebrow and leaning closer. "What is it?"

She presses a smirk back and breathes, "You're aroused because I'm angry with you. Yes or no."

He pauses, then asks, "Are you still angry with me?" There's something in his voice that answers her question better than any other response he could have given. His tone is almost hopeful. It makes her smile slowly.

She leans in until their lips are barely separated, and murmurs, "…Do you want me to be?"

He swallows and closes his eyes, tilting his head towards her. Their mouths brush against each other, and he groans, "Yes."

Sil exhales swiftly. "You're being dreadfully masochistic, darling. I had no idea you were so…sensitive," she purrs, reaching one hand down to palm over the hardened bulge between his thighs. He groans and drops his forehead against hers, pressing her against the wall and rolling his hips into her hand.

"Fuck, Sil," he mutters, eyes fluttering open to stare at her. She squeezes him and he groans again. It sends shivers down her spine.

Her lips brush against his in just the barest hint of a kiss, and then she's tugging at the waistband of his pajamas and firmly saying, "Take this off."

Her voice is no-nonsense. His eyes fly open in surprise, the stern order clearly taking him aback, but he only hesitates for a moment before he obeys. There is something incredibly erotic about this that captures him so entirely that he can't think of doing anything else. He breathes out hard and, a moment later, steps back to do exactly as she says, shucking his sleep pants off of his hips and kicking them to the side. Then, utterly naked, he waits for her next order with baited breath.

It comes only a short moment later. Crossing her arms, Sil purrs, "On your knees, darling."

If the last order had been erotic, this is downright sinful. He swallows back the clawing urge to pull her against him, battling it down with a strength that he doesn't know he has in favor of submitting to her. He's received orders like this before, of course, in the hotel room moments of his past, but this is distinctly different from all of those put together. This is Sil. This is his wife.

He drops to his knees.

Sil peers down at him with a haughty expression, tilting her head as she steps around his prone figure. She reaches out to drag a hand through his hair, being a little rougher than she normally would as she pulls at his scalp. He shivers vividly at the way she claws over his shoulders, nails drifting past the nape of his neck. When she comes full circle and stands in front of him again, she tilts her head as she takes him in, and suppresses a shiver of her own.

Gracious, but he's gorgeous, completely bare and kneeling before her like this. She's never known herself to have the desire to see such a thing, but to be honest, she's never truly desired anyone until Finnick entered her life and turned it upside down. The last few months since she's moved in with him has certainly been an exploration of her own passions, to say the least.

She doesn't say a single word when she steps up to him and starts untying her robe. The silken fabric swooshes from her figure like falling water. His eyes darken minutely, especially when she goes to pull the nightshirt off next. She's not wearing anything underneath it, and so when the fabric joins the robe on the floor, his gaze burns with desire for her.

"Now, Finnick darling," she murmurs, tilting her head at him. He slowly peruses her figure until his gaze clashes with hers, and the darkness of his eyes makes her inhale slowly, trying to rein in the drizzle of passion that somersaults through her body.

She crouches down in front of him and demands, "Are you _quite_ sure you don't talk about our antics with your friends?"

Truly, she had believed him before. The only reason she's bringing it up again is because it had been the source of her ire, and the reason for his arousal. She narrows her eyes at him and kneels down in between his knees.

"Answer me."

He shudders and hoarsely responds, "I told you I don't."

She leans in to kiss his jaw, dragging her lips over the light graze of stubble that spans across his skin, and drags his earlobe between her teeth. He swallows and grasps her ass, heaving her against him with a strength that makes her crazy, though she tries not to let it show.

"Good," she mutters, and pushes him back. Then, catching his eye, she says, "Because you're mine, Finnick Odair. Do you hear me?"

He exhales sharply and sits back, legs spread as she pushes him down. The floor is hard beneath his body but honestly, he hardly notices. He's a little preoccupied by the way Sil is following him down and kissing him with all the fury in the world, teeth nipping, fingers clawing, hips rolling – and all he can do is curse and groan, "I'm yours – Sil – "

She pulls him inside her swiftly, grabbing his hands and pushing them above his head as she hovers over him. Their fingers intertwine against the tile, and the heady momentum of their position allows him to breach her deeply. She hilts him inside of her with every roiling thrust, driving him solidly into her as they exchange breaths and loiter in a plane designed only for this very moment. It's incredible, how singular it all feels. How perfectly solitary it is to take him in such a manner, with such furious need, and not hold herself back in any way whatsoever.

She decides that she quite likes it.

He does too, if his constant stream of moans and curses are any indication.

"You're mine," she repeats, a continuous mantra that he responds to by lifting his hips and spluttering weakly into her forceful thrusts. He feels shaken, stripped of all the familiar parts of himself that had unknowingly held him down. It's freeing in a way he can't possible describe, and far more arousing than anything he's ever felt before. Claiming each other in such a primal manner is like stepping into another world entirely, and every unfamiliar shade of this passion makes him feel simultaneously powerful and vulnerable in the most amazing way possible.

"Silver – " he moans, body arching off the floor. He'd like to touch her but he can't move. The passion is so intense that all he can do is melt in the face of it, breathless and harrowed, as if he is just a figment of himself.

And Sil – she takes her pleasure from him in a way she never has before, grinding down on him with wanton passion, digging her nails into his hands unforgivingly, throwing her head back and purring above him as her climax presses against the boundaries of her flesh and transcends even that.

He can only watch her, stare at the way she unravels above him, losing herself to the cadence of her own desire as she pulsates around his length and arches back. He thinks it's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen, this rapture. It's what ultimately drives him to his own end – an end that's been long in coming, in more ways than one.

"Sil – Silver," he gasps, finally tearing his hands from hers to bracket them against her hips. He fists her skin tightly, knees bent as he presses himself into her from below, increasing the tempo to such a degree that it almost feels as if he's possessed. He knows only one thing in that moment, and that is the fact that he needs to come, desperately.

"Fuck," he grunts, head tilted back against the floor and hips thrusting wildly into her. He grasps her with bruising force, but Sil barely notices in wake of the second orgasm that takes her aback and nearly bowls her over. She cries out, leaning into him and nearly sobbing at the intensity of it all. The throbbing pulse of her end ricochets through him too, hurrying him along as groans again at the sheer satisfaction that he feels.

It's perfectly mirrored in her. She's boneless, and when she sinks against him completely, Finnick takes her weight into his arms with a blurred moan, holding her against his skin as they slowly unravel from the almost brutal passion that had, only seconds before, thundered through them.

They lay like that for a long time, until his back starts to feel sore and he gently rolls her off of him, propping himself up onto his elbow with a lazy smirk and reaching down to brush her mussed up hair from her eyes.

"…You really are a siren," he murmurs after a moment, thinking back to all those stories about beautiful creatures luring poor sailors to their deaths. She barely even has to try, and he's lured in by her.

Sil hazily blinks up at him and chuckles slowly, voice hoarse and feeling very tired all of the sudden. Perhaps it's because they've barely slept at all since saying their vows, but she feels as if she could sleep for days.

"That was…" he trails off, and grins boyishly down at her. She feels herself blush a little bit, all too aware of her own brazenness and the way it had overpowered her to such a degree. She doesn't regret it one bit, but neither can she deny that she's never exhibited such a thing before.

He smirks at her blush and crowds over her, nestling against her body and dropping a kiss to her shoulder. "Let's go to bed," he suggests after a moment, taking note of her sleepy eyes. He supposes that they should probably get a little bit of sleep, despite the fact that he'd love to explore that particular excerpt of her passions in far greater detail.

Sil groans as he helps her up, and complains, "My knees hurt."

He can't possibly stop the laugh that brims up when he quips, "That's what you get for going all dominatrix on me, sugar."

The word makes her blush even harder. She puffs her cheeks out and swats his hands away from her, then stumbles a little bit. He reaches out to steady her with another laugh.

"Bed," he reminds her. Then – in a moment of spontaneity, he slips his arm beneath her knees and lifts her up with a heave of muscle, much to her surprise. She cries out briefly at the sudden movement, and Finnick smirks down at her. "Careful, love," he purrs, eyes twinkling, "if you want to sleep, don't antagonize me."

Sil rolls her eyes at him. "Oh please," she mutters with a snort as he starts carrying her to the bedroom.

Finnick laughs. "Please let me sleep, or please let me ravish you again?" he wonders with a mischievous glint in his eye, and she weakly pushes his shoulder.

"I definitely need to rest after _that,"_ she asks tiredly as he lays her down and joins her.

As he reaches to pull the sheets over their bodies and nestles against her, Finnick whispers, "Then rest." And, kissing her forehead, he pulls her close and watches her drift off the sleep, wondering how on earth he got so lucky.


	8. And I long for your return

**Chapter Eight | And I long for your return**

It is strange, how life continues. How time has a way of plunging forward, whether you're prepared for its movement or not. If you are, then you rush out to meet its passage with arms opened wide, embracing the tides of life as it rolls into your body and displaces your soul. If you're not, you get swept up in the undertow like a rowboat in an ocean, buffeted by a climbing sea that keels you into the brine. Sometimes Sil is that rowboat. Sometimes, the fierce pull of the tide shakes her. But mostly, she finds that she embraces it more often than not. It isn't so bad, here in District 4. In many ways, it has become the home that she has longed for her entire life, even back when she hadn't realized she possessed such a longing.

And yet how could she not be happy here, on these shores, with these people who welcome her with the same wild exuberance as they welcome in the shifting tides of their own lives? How could she ever go back to the life she had once lived, like a bird caged in a gilded mansion, living lies wreathed in half-truths? She could no sooner carve her heart from her body than leave this place, not now.

Marriage suits her, or so everyone says. Sil disagrees. It isn't marriage that fulfills the craving in her soul or the wild press of her heart. It's Finnick. It's always been Finnick. And even if she wasn't able to call him her husband – her real, true husband – then it would still be the same.

Sometimes she thinks it's funny, how intensely she loves him. Mostly she thinks it's invigorating and incredible in the most simplest of ways.

"Mmm…are you still awake?" he mumbles, rolling over and peering sleepily up at her form. She's sitting up in bed in a halo of moonlight, thoughtfully brushing her fingers through Finnick's hair as he rests on the pillow beside her. When he turns to face her, she looks down at him with a quiet smile. She likes his eyes when they're sleepy. The emotion that purges through them is clear, like sun glimmering against waves.

Shucking her knees up and turning towards him, Sil hums and reaches for him. He edges closer, sighing out with exhaustion as he lays his head on her thigh and shifts his hands over her night shirt. His eyes close, and she continues running her fingers through his hair, smiling in contentment at the way he immediately sighs and snuggles closer.

"Can't sleep?" he mumbles, voice muffled against cotton. Sil tilts her head back and blinks up at the ceiling, twisting his hair between her fingers.

With a thoughtful sigh, she murmurs, "I've been thinking, that's all."

Finnick chuckles, nuzzling his face against her with a joking, "Sounds dangerous."

She laughs quietly and looks down at him, admiring the handsome features that she knows so well. It's been several months since their wild wedding on the beaches of District 4, and life has been beautiful. She has embraced the recent changes with open arms, from moving into Finnick's cottage to assimilating to life here in this place that is so different from District 1. And yet…

And yet.

"What've you been thinking about, I wonder?" Finnick asks, brushing his thumb against her hip as he sighs out in contentment. He does so love it when she runs her hands through his hair. It sends shivers down his spine.

Sil studies his features, tracing the shell of his ear in contemplative silence. She's grown accustomed to sharing his bed, to sleeping in the strong embrace of his arms, to holding him whenever his nightmares reappear and haunt his dreams. She's grown to love their little cottage by the sea. The push and pull of the waves that she can hear even now, despite the windows being shuttered to keep out the chill of early autumn. The laughing smiles and jeers of their neighbors and the townspeople she's gotten to know. The constant scent of the ocean on the breeze, and the bustle of the docks, and the flap of sails on the ships, and even the stink of fresh fish that pervades the marketplace. She grown to love even those small details, but more than these little snippets of home, she loves this man above all.

At her silence, Finnick lifts his head, opening his eyes to look at her. He considers her for a moment, taking in the tousled blonde hair and the thoughtful expression on her face, before quietly asking, "Are you alright?"

His question makes her smile. She cups his face with her hand and pulls him back against her, leaning against the pillows with a sigh.

"I was just thinking that I really ought to go buy that paint. Whatever possessed you to use such a dreadful shade of green?" she complains, and chuckles when Finnick grunts and squeezes her thigh playfully.

They spend time in between the cottage and the shack two miles up the coast, though in truth, it's no more a shack than a mansion is a shed. They still call it that though. It's become something of an inside joke around the district. In any case, most of their time is spent here at the cottage, as it's closer to the docks where Finnick works and much less of a walk to reach the market.

Sil has already gone through the majority of the cottage, redecorating it as she sees fit. True to her word, she's turned it into a beautiful place. There are wicker chairs out on the back patio that hadn't been there before, and strands of lights and seashells hang around the place like fairy dust. There's a living energy to the home that is entirely new, and entirely a result of her presence here. She has not yet touched this room, though she enjoys complaining about the intense green paint at all hours of the day.

Finnick mutters, "It's not that bad."

She huffs. "It is."

With a laugh, he pinches her and childishly retaliates, "It's not."

She presses back an amused smile and closes her eyes. Meanwhile, Finnick opens his to once more study her. After a moment, he carefully wonders, "…What were you really thinking about, Sil?"

If she's surprised that he's caught her red handed, she doesn't show it. Her initial response had been a paltry excuse that anyone would have been able to see through. Instead of arguing that her thoughts truly were so silly as to linger upon such a thing as the color of the walls, Sil just hums, "I just…get bored, sitting around here all day. You're off working and I'm left here to mind the house. I need to _do_ something."

It's true, at least partially. She does get bored here, when Finnick is down at the docks and she has nothing to occupy her time with. Annie isn't always free, and she can't just hang around the marketplace chatting with the vendors who she now knows by name. They've work to do. They can't always accommodate her.

She feels…useless. But while those thoughts are on her mind more often than not, they aren't what she's just been thinking of. Not entirely.

Finnick sits up with a thoughtful frown, pushing himself against the pillows beside her and reaching for her hand. He takes it in his own and pulls it into his lap, twisting her fingers with his as he looks over at her.

"So let's get you a stall in the market. We can turn the downstairs room into a workroom and you can make jewelry," he suggests.

Sil gapes at him.

With a raised eyebrow, he pushes his elbow onto the headboard and faces her fully. "Or you could get a job in one of the shops, if you want, but I could see you in the marketplace."

She sends him a sidelong glance and laughs, "I'm not sure if you're joking or being serious."

He smiles, squeezing her hand with his and says, "I'm not joking, Sil. If you don't want to be a fisherman's wife, then why not give it a try?"

She turns to face him too, curling a leg over his and spearing him with a far more serious look. In a soft voice, she says, "I want to be _your_ wife, Finnick – fisherman or no."

He smiles at her and pulls her into his lap, heaving her body against his and murmuring, "It still feels so new, calling you mine."

She hums out in agreement and snuggles into his embrace, burying her face against his shoulder as they sit together on their bed in the middle of the night, bathed in moonlight and quiet candor.

"Really though, Sil," he whispers, "I want you to be happy here."

She just laughs at him and kisses his head.

"I am happy, Finnick," she tells him, and he sighs. Then, leaning back, she shifts off of him and says, "Let's go to sleep. You have to be down at the docks bright and early in the morning."

He hums and pulls the blankets over them, then pulls her into his arms and breathes, "We'll talk about this tomorrow."

She nods against him, smoothing her fingers against the fabric of his sleep shirt and closing her eyes. But her mind is far too busy for her to fall asleep, even when Finnick's breathing levels out again.

She has far too much to think about, but none of her thoughts center on the boredom of her daily routine. No – she is swept up in the tides of change once more, but this time, she is that rowboat that is catapulted over the turbulent sea with no hope of reaching solid land, for this is a change that she is not quite prepared to embrace.

Every woman needs a few secrets, after all, and she isn't ready to part with this one just yet.

* * *

District 4 is a gorgeous place, but Sil could do without the cold. The summer months are blisteringly hot, and the air hangs with a thick humidity that can't be shaken no matter where you are. But in the winter months, the storms that bluster in from the open sea are vehement and dangerous. Thankfully, it's too early yet to experience such a storm, and as Sil makes her way down to the docks, she is not so cold as to require anything other than her woolen jacket and gossamer scarf.

The docks are, as always, bustling. No matter the weather, District 4 has a quota to meet. The fish they catch are no longer sent only to the Capitol, but to the entire country. The trade routes that have been reopened means that the demand for all materials has risen significantly since the overthrow of Snow's government. It's certainly boosted the economy here, in her new home. It also means that Finnick's already long hours are even longer until they can train new men to cover the extra shifts. Which is why Sil is ambling down to see him, a basket swinging from her arm as she makes her way across the wooden planks of the dock and throws greetings to the faces she recognizes.

"Hey – Finnick's Girl's here!" one of the sailors calls, and several riotous hoots fill the air. About half of the docked ships are out in the open waters, as it's only midday, but there are enough workers around to make a racket regardless.

Sil rolls her eyes as one of them swaggers into her space and laughingly eyes the basket hanging from her arm. "What's this? Did you bring us lunch?" A wave of cheers rings through the area and someone shouts, "Any whiskey, love?"

Sil huffs, but can't stop the amused smile from capturing the corners of her mouth when she calls, "Whiskey? It's barely noon yet!"

The sailor elbows his friend and responds, "Aye, perfect time for a drink!"

Sil's smile turns into a grin. Eric, who is still lingering in front of her, says, "Finnick's down with Rory, training a new boy." He gestures behind him to the end of the docks, where Sil can just barely see the figure of her husband. His back is turned towards her, but the glimmering bronze hair is unmistakable.

"Thank you, Eric," she responds, and steps around him to continue on her way. She doesn't get very far, though.

District 4 is a gorgeous place, and its people are hardy souls who embrace change whenever it rolls into their lives. They also embrace any and every moment that could be translated over to humor. Sil is just stepping forward when one of the men she's gotten to know fairly well ambles up to her.

"Silver, love, I'm so glad you've come to visit me," Pete jokes, and peers at the basket with smiling eyes. "Ah, and you've brought lunch too. You're a doll, love. What'd we do without you?" The other men hoot out their agreement. Sil rolls her eyes.

"You're ever so amusing, Pete," she responds, and sidesteps him, but he only laughs and edges closer. Sil isn't surprised. One thing she's learned since moving here is that these people have no sense of personal space.

With a huff, she turns to berate him, as only she can do, but Pete only grabs her shoulders and drags her into him in one abrupt, unexpected move. He gives her a very thorough smooch that she is not prepared for, right on the mouth, and then pulls away with a laugh as the whole of the docks erupts into hooting jeers and whistles. Pete, who is a good man if not a bit childish at times, raises his hands into the air as if he's just done the impossible, sending a wink her way and laughing riotously.

Sil is not quite as amused.

She glowers at him, lifts the back of her hand to rub at her mouth, and then sets the basket down. Then she's stepping up to him, giving him a sly smile, and pushing him over with more force than he anticipates. They're near enough to the side of the docks for Pete to immediately get bowled over, flying into the cold waters below with a shriek that will no doubt put him on the receiving end of many a joke for months. And, as if the jeering hollers hadn't been loud before, now the entire dock shouts out their laughter like a crashing wave of sound, and Sil stands in the middle of it all looking viciously pleased.

"Aye – that's what you get for kissing our siren," one of them laughs.

Another shouts, "He won't be kissing nobody anytime soon!

"His lips'll be frozen for months!" someone hollers, and Sil smirks widely as she steps to the edge of the docks to peer down at her assailant. He's in the process of pulling himself up the rungs of one of the ladders that's hammered into the sides of the dock, shivering from the cold and spluttering out sea water.

When he rolls onto the flat wooden surface, he moans, "You're a…cruel mistress, love."

Sil just laughs, "And you're a fool, Pete." Then she kneels down next to him, glances around at the other men with an amused twinkle in her eye, and pulls out a bottle of whiskey from her basket. The sight of it has the men rearing with laughter.

"You look like you need this," she laughs, and shoves it into Pete's shivering hands. Around here, whiskey makes everything better. It's practically currency. He laughs and winks at her, upcapping the bottle to take a generous sip.

"You minx, you said you didn't have any," he mumbles, and she snickers.

"I've learned a thing or two since becoming a fisherman's wife," she tells him with a wink, and he bursts out into more laughter despite his current condition, shivering like a wet cat on the docks and surrounded by the jeering laughter of the other sailors.

"You certainly have," he responds after taking another sip. Then, looking past her, Pete exclaims, "You've got a sea nymph for a wife, Finn!"

Warm hands come to rest on Sil's waist, and Finnick's body presses against her back, drawn over from the commotion on the other side of the docks. His chest shakes with laughter, and when he speaks, his voice is heavy with amusement.

"I agree wholeheartedly," he quips, leaning down to press a kiss against Sil's cheek. She chuckles and tangles her fingers with his as they come to rest on her abdomen. After a moment spent going back and forth with the other sailors, Finnick pulls her down the docks, grabbing her basket as he goes.

"Ready?" he asks her, sending her an excited smile. Sil wrinkles her nose at him.

"At least it's not a rowboat this time," she mutters, and he laughs aloud.

They're going for a boat ride today. So far, Sil's refused to step foot onto another boat, despite Finnick's continued attempts at bribing her onto the open ocean. She still hasn't forgotten his stories about krakens and sharks, nor has the cold chill of that midnight water left her memory. At least today, the sun is out and the water is clear, and no talk of sea monsters creases their conversation as Finnick pulls her towards his boat.

"Have fun out there," Della tells them as they pass, glancing up from the net she's in the middle of repairing. Sil sends her a wide smile that's easily returned.

As Finnick passes her, he says, "It's a great day for a sail."

Rory steps out of the tackle shack and shouts, "Keep yer husband outta trouble!"

Sil laughs. "I'm not sure that's possible but I'll do my utmost."

Finnick nudges her playfully and gestures to the boat with a grandiose flutter of his hand. Its sails are bound, with its ropes tightly tied to the docks to keep it from floating off, but it rocks to the shifting, gentle waves with a constancy that is almost entrancing, in a way. And, the painstakingly painted black letters that unfurls across the back of it, giving name to the boat, puts a soft smile on her face.

Finnick is smiling too, when he lifts his hand and murmurs, "After you, my lady."

She rolls her eyes at him but steps forward anyway, allowing him to help her.

The Daydream is a small, twenty foot boat with sparse accommodations. It certainly isn't the sort of boat that Silver Lamprey Cornelius, heiress and socialite, would ever step foot on. She isn't that person anymore, though, and she clamors onto it without a second thought.

As Finnick unties the knots keeping the boat docked to the pier, Sil takes a seat to the side and waits. She isn't quite ready to allow him to teach her those knots or the proper maneuvering of pulling the boat out into the ocean, so she just sits back and tugs her coat tighter around her until he joins her several minutes later. When he slides into the seat next to her, he pulls her into his side and sends her a flirty smile that has her rolling her eyes at him.

"Don't give me that look – you'll love this," he reassures her, laughing at the way she reluctantly wrinkles her nose at him, the haughty sheen of her eyes taking on a playful glamour.

"Gracious, I'm not so sure of that, my love," she sniffs, exaggerating her voice in the same manner she used to, back when she pretended to be the silliest fop in Panem. The smile that graces the corners of her mouth betrays her, though, as does the amusement that colors her words when she airily complains, "All the salt in the air is going to ruin my clothes."

Finnick smirks down at her and quips, "I think you're already enjoying yourself. You just don't want to admit it."

At this, her eyes slant over his figure with renewed interest, studying the rolled up sleeves and the way his shirt is unbuttoned at the top. Sil shrugs halfheartedly and admits, "At least the view is decent."

He laughs aloud as he begins to maneuver the boat out of its space, unfurling the sails so as to allow the wind to push them into the open waters. As he fiddles with the ropes, he glances over at her and says in a faux-offended voice, _"Decent?_ I remember you calling me gorgeous once upon a time."

Sil wrinkles her nose again and mutters, "Yes, well, I had a head injury." She recalls that moment only too well, back when she had slammed her head against the jutting rocks of the cornucopia. Finnick had been so worried about her. It had surprised her, for back then, she had been so unsure what his true feelings for her were. No such delusions color the spaces between them now, though.

He gives a mock cringe and jokes, "Wow, sugar. You really know how to kick a man when he's down."

Sil leans back with a chuckle, peering at him through slanted green eyes. The dock begins to fall away behind them, overcome by the briny waters of the ocean as Finnick guides the boat away from the bustle of District 4. She tilts her head back, not able to deny that it does feel nice, having the wind lift her hair up and the sun cast its sparkling rays upon the water. There's something majestic about the ocean that she can't seem to get enough of. Perhaps it's because she is so accustomed to the vast stretches of desert sand. Perhaps it's something else entirely. She turns her attention back to her husband (the word makes her shiver deliciously, for it's still so new and wondrous), and doesn't attempt to hide the way she's blatantly admiring him.

She can't really help herself. Finnick Odair _is_ gorgeous, and he knows it. And here, on the stretch of ocean, wrangling with the sails and squinting in the bright sunlight, he is in his element.

"How far are we going?" she asks after a moment, adjusting the scarf around her neck as she looks out over the water. She raises a hand to block out the sun, and sends Finnick a smile that he easily returns as he steps back over to her.

He sits down and stretches his arms out, keeping one eye on the sails and another on Sil. His voice is eager when he responds, "As far as we want."

His simple response makes her laugh. He chuckles too and turns to her, raising an eyebrow and asking, "What?"

But Sil just shakes her head, slipping closer to him and wrapping an arm around his waist. He tugs her closer as she presses a kiss to his jaw. Against his skin, she murmurs, "It still feels strange, having complete control over our lives."

Finnick smiles quietly at her. He lifts a hand to brush away a wisp of her hair that's gotten out of her barrette, and whispers, "It's amazing, isn't it?"

She just chuckles again and nods, tucking her face against his neck with a contented sigh.

Then, very quietly, so much so that the wind nearly steals the words away before they can reach his ears, Sil breathes, "…I love you, Finnick."

And Finnick? Well, the smile he sends her then makes her heart turn wild, and the kiss he deposits to her lips makes her feel as thunderous as the snapping sails that fill with the sea breeze and catapult them forward.


	9. Sailor, when the tide turns

**Chapter Nine | Through the harbors of my heart**

Finnick returns home later that week to a sight he'll not soon forget. Sil is nowhere to be found, though all the lights are on. It's early still, only around four o'clock. He was able to get off of work early today because the quota had been filled faster than usual, and as he strides into the cottage, he expects to find Sil puttering about in the workroom they've begun to set up. There's still a lot of work to do to get everything in order and she's dived head-first into the organization of it all, in ways that only she can pull off. It's just that, when he pokes his head into the downstairs workroom, Sil is nowhere to be found.

He raises an eyebrow and hums, pulling off his damp shirt as he makes his way upstairs. It's wet with salt water from a tumble into the ocean hours before, and still hasn't dried off completely despite it being a windy day. All he wants is a hot shower and a meal, both of which he intends on getting just as soon as he finds his wayward wife.

And he does – find her, that is. It just isn't exactly how he expects to find her.

The moment he steps into the bedroom, his jaw drops. It isn't such a strange reaction to have. Sil has made his jaw drop plenty of times in this space, if he's being honest with himself (and he most certainly is). Only, none of those moments ever had anything to do with paint fumes and sheets covering every inch of furniture.

"…Uh. What are you doing?" he asks from the doorway, damp shirt still hanging from his fingers as he stares at her. Sil is dressed in the least glamorous outfit he's ever seen her in and is standing in the center of the room as she calmly assesses the wall in front of her, which has been painted a gentle shade of blue. Upon further inspection, he realizes that it's actually one of his own shirts she's wearing, and he's caught between pleasure at the way the fabric hangs off her figure and morbidity at the way it's covered with splotches of blue paint.

At the sound of his voice, she starts, spinning towards him with an expression of surprise. He doesn't usually manage to sneak up on her.

She beams at him and gesture to the wall proudly. "I can't sleep around all this horrid green, my love, so I've finally taken the liberty of finally changing it." She crosses her arms with a nod, and turns back to the wall.

Finnick just crosses his arms and looks her over, taking in the fact that his shirt looks to be the only thing she's wearing, and that she's got splotches of paint on her bare legs, too. He fights off an amused smile and drawls, "Oh, is _that_ why you can't sleep? I thought it was because you couldn't stop ravishing me." He sighs as if it's a terrible thing, being ravished by her, and adds, _"I'm_ the one who's always tired."

Sil turns to him with a faux-outraged expression and cries, "Gracious, Finnick, what a thing to say! If you had your way, we'd never leave this house at all!"

He presses back a smirk and strolls into the room, coming to stand next to her and studying the paint color she's chosen. She hadn't told him she'd be spending the day doing this, of all things, though heaven knows she's been threatening to do exactly this for months now. He's honestly surprised it's taken her as long as it has.

"That's true enough," he shrugs, slipping an arm around her and pulling her against him.

The moment he tries to, Sil wriggles out of his hold with an exclaimed, "Don't you dare, Finnick! You smell like fish!"

He bursts out into laughter and tosses his damp shirt off to the side to free his hands. Then, with a fierce expression blazing through his eyes, he turns back to Sil with a wide smirk and steps towards her, hands outstretched. She squeals and pushes herself back, wrangling him away from her and succeeding for a while, until he corners her between the balcony doors and his body. When he sweeps her against him, Sil lets out an indignant squeak and cries, "I'm trying to work! Finnick – don't! Finnick!"

He laughs as he pulls her into his arms, grappling with her body as he steps across the room to the bathroom door. When he pushes it open with his foot and finally lets her go, Sil pushes her hands through her hair with a scowl.

"I'm not taking a shower with you," she denies, knowing what he's trying to do. He gives her a pouty look that occasionally works, but not tonight. She's busy! She doesn't have time to let him distract her! When he corners her against the edge of the sink though, it's clear that Finnick has other ideas.

"Why not?" he asks, lowering his head to kiss her neck. His hands clench into the shirt she's wearing, fisting the cotton fabric as he pushes it up. He palms her thigh, where a splotch of blue paint has stained her skin, and in a voice muffled from his kisses, says, "We both need to get cleaned up. Besides, I haven't seen you naked in ages."

Sil immediately rolls her eyes. "Twenty four hours is _not_ an eternity, Finnick."

He snickers against her, lifting a hand to cup her breast through the shirt as his other rubs circles against her inner thigh. He feels her relax a bit, melting against him just so, and hums as he turns his head to kiss her properly. The moment his lips sink against hers, Sil lets out a reluctantly pleased sigh that makes him smirk.

"See? You can't get enough of me," he jokes, dragging her lip into his mouth and nipping at it. She leans back to reply to him but before she can, his fingers graze the edge of her underwear and she clamps her mouth shut.

With a groan, Sil mumbles, "You're incorrigible, Finnick Odair."

He just laughs and pulls the shirt up over her body, and she lets him, because…

Well, perhaps it is because of the fire he has kindled within her, the desire that always seems to burn through her veins every time he's near. Perhaps it's the eager lilt of his eyes as he grins boyishly down at her, or the way he's hands are so gentle as he pulls her bare form against him, or the look of reverential admiration that cuts over his face as he takes her in. Perhaps it's because she's so in love with him that she can't say no to the twists and turns of his whimsical nature.

"Come on," he whispers against her mouth, grinning widely as he leads her over to the shower.

And she goes.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't mind looking after him? I wouldn't normally ask, but…" Annie trails off, turning to Sil with an exasperated look in her eyes. Sil just waves her off and adjusts the bundle she's got wrapped up in her arms, smiling softly at the tiny sleeping face that rests against her shoulder.

"Don't be silly, Annie," she murmurs, shaking her head. "You and Will should have fun tonight. Finnick won't mind – he adores this little guy."

Annie beams. She's already dressed in a pretty dove gray dress and her bright copper hair is tumbling down her back. She's got a glow about her that is proof of her own happiness, and to be quite honest, Sil has never seen her so light. The birth of her son has changed her in ways that Sil has visibly witnessed.

Little George is a little over a year old, and he's the sweetest child Sil has ever known. That is, she's never really been around children before, or even held a babe until George, but she's quite sure that he's the most adorable creature on the planet.

"Oh thank you, Sil," Annie sighs, coming over to hug her and her young son. She smiles down at him for a brief moment and then says, "I'm so grateful. I feel that Will and I haven't really had the chance to enjoy our marriage like normal newlyweds. Having a baby changes a lot of things."

The words make Sil freeze for a moment, swept up in the truths of them. Babies do change things. They need constant supervision, and attention, and love. A baby would change everything.

Annie frowns and asks, "…Sil? Are you alright?"

And, breaking out of the thoughts that have captured her, Sil clears her throat and throws a smile onto her face as she quickly responds, "Oh yes, of course! Have fun, Annie, and don't worry about George. We'll watch over him."

Her worries brushed aside, Annie nods and leans in to press a swift kiss to Sil's cheek. "Thank you for this, Sil. His usual bedtime is six o'clock, and be careful when he's playing – he tends to throw things." She chuckles fondly as she leans down to kiss her son's head, and Sil smiles.

"He'll be well looked after, darling," Sil replies, and shifts the bundle higher in her arms as Annie pulls back to grab her purse. It takes her several more minutes to leave, but when Annie does finally exit, Sil just stands there for a moment looking a little bit lost.

In truth, she has no idea how to care for a baby, but she couldn't say no to Annie when she'd asked. Annie has been such a kind friend to her these last months, assisting her around District 4, introducing her to the people she now calls friends, and taking her under her wing in ways that had truly surprised Sil. This small favor is nothing by comparison.

Still, she wishes that Finnick had been able to get off work early tonight. He's much better with kids than she is. Thankfully, he won't be too much longer. He's probably finishing up right about now.

With a sigh, Sil goes to sit down on the couch, carefully adjusting the bundle in her arms and craning her head to look down at little George. He's sleeping peacefully, for now, but it's early still, and he naps frequently. According to Annie, he'll be a ball of energy soon enough, until of course he tires himself out again. As if reading her mind, the babe suddenly frowns and makes a few distressed noises. His eyes are still closed, but he seems to be moments from waking.

Sil rocks him a little, shushing the noises and murmuring, "Hush now, my love," against his head. After a few minutes of this, George quiets down, but even as his crying stops, his eyes flutter open. Sil beams down at him and coos at him, laughing when he lifts a hand and knocks it into her cheek. She draws her fingers over the tiny fist and brings it to her lips, kissing it and laughing again.

Her laughter quiets though, as George twists and turns and begins to cry, hands flapping as his lungs burst with air and his crying ricochets through the room. Sil cringes a little and quickly begins rocking him a little faster, lifting him up into her arms in an effort to distract him from whatever it is that has set him off.

She's in the middle of trying to calm him down when the door opens and Finnick steps inside the house. He takes one look at her and laughs. She wrinkles her nose, but can't deny that she's extremely grateful when he steps over to her and swoops little George up into his arms with a natural finesse that she's a tiny bit envious of. Honestly, Finnick is great with kids. It's something that warms her and frightens her simultaneously.

"Is Silver scaring you, little lad?" he asks, and then lifts him up to blow a raspberry against his stomach. George shrieks with laughter, tears immediately forgotten, and Sil huffs from the couch.

"I did no such thing," she mutters, crossing her arms and eyeing George carefully, as if she's afraid he might start crying again. Finnick sends her an amused smile and then promptly grunts when George's tiny fist is shoved against his face.

The sight of it is enough revenge for Sil, who bursts out into laughter at Finnick's expression.

Finnick chuckles too and goes to the couch to join Sil, sitting down and allowing George to wriggle from his arms. The little guy has just begun to start walking, though he's a bit wobbly still and falls often. Finnick keeps him between his outstretched legs to ensure that he doesn't hurt himself, and the child seems content (for now) to grasp onto his jeans and hover there.

Finnick turns towards Sil and leans into her, pressing a kiss to her lips and sending her a jaunty grin that she can't help but return. Her eyes are a little hesitant as she turns her attention to her husband and the child. The pair of them look so natural together. Finnick could charm any baby without any effort whatsoever, and George charms him just as much. Sometimes, when they're together, Sil thinks she sees the faint traces of yearning in Finnick's eyes whenever he plays with George. She doesn't let herself linger long on the feeling, and Finnick has never said anything about starting a family yet, though she's pretty sure he'd like to. He'd make a wonderful father.

"How was your day?" he asks her, drawing her out of her thoughts. She turns to him with a start, only to find him watching her carefully – or at least as carefully as he can, considering the constant attention that must be given to George.

Sil pauses, then says, "I've finished repainting the bedroom."

The corner of his mouth twitches. She knows he's amused at her dramatic disapproval of that horrible green shade he'd picked once upon a time (it feels like an eternity ago, honestly), and Finnick rarely tempers his own mirth.

She rolls her eyes and nudges him, "What did you do today? Still training that boy?"

Finnick shrugs and stretches, turning his attention to George, who is beginning to wobble away from the cage of Finnick's legs. Finnick doesn't try to stop him, but he does keep an eye on him just in case.

"Nah, Rory's taken over that. I was on my own today," he responds, throwing an arm over the back of the couch and sending her a boyish smile. "Just me, the wind, and the ocean."

Sil purses her lips to press down a smile and adds, "And the fish. You reek, my love."

Finnick pouts, plucking at his shirt to sniff at his clothes. Evidently, he's been around fish for too long, because he doesn't seem to smell what she does. Not that Sil is necessarily complaining, mind you. _She's_ been in District 4 for long enough to get used to the way things operate around here, and the fact that fish is just another part of the culture.

He sends her a look that she immediately recognizes at one of his mischievous glances, and edges closer to her. She narrows her eyes and immediately pushes herself back, but it is no use. With a leer, he pushes her down onto the couch and follows after her, laughing as he covers her with his body. Sil shrieks at him, trying to push him off, but Finnick is nothing if not singular in his attentions. He kisses her neck eagerly, humming against her skin and chuckling at the way she squirms beneath him, noisily complaining about the fishy scent that permeates from him and at the fact that they aren't exactly alone. She erupts into giggles all the while, until suddenly George begins to cry and their attention is diverted.

Finnick pushes himself up immediately. They both turn to see George on the floor, apparently having had a tumble. He can only walk a few feet at a time, as he's still finding his balance on two legs.

Sil goes to him, kneeling down and lifting him up into her arms with a soft coo that immediately quiets the child. She shushes him softly, rubbing his back until he stops crying and instead curls up in her arms, content with the comfort that she gives him. And, unbeknownst to her, Finnick watches them with a soft look in his eyes and that yearning in his heart, and he barely manages to cover it up when she turns to him several minutes later.

He sends her a quiet smile and tells her, "You're good with children. I think little George likes you more than you think."

Sil hums and sits back down on the couch, nestling herself against Finnick's body with George in her arms.

"He likes you better," she tells him, and Finnick smirks.

"Naturally," he jokes. She rolls her eyes at him.

He looks at her carefully for a long moment, then slowly asks, "…Do you want kids?"

The question immediately gives her pause, partly because she's not expecting him to ask in such a forthright manner, and partly because she honestly doesn't have an answer.

Does she? She's still getting used to calling Finnick her husband. They haven't even been married a full year. She isn't ready to start thinking about such things. And yet…she isn't sure how long she'll be able to turn a blind eye to this particular topic.

Children. It's strange, really. She's always wanted children, but suddenly the mere idea frightens her more than she can say. Would she even make a good mother? Her own mother had been absent for much of her life. She has little maternal guidance to fall back upon, no one to advise her or inform her of what sort of changes she'll experience. Aurelian is a hundred miles away, and isn't around for Sil to rely on in the same way she used to. Annie would be there, of course, but Annie is a new mother herself and she's still learning as well.

Her silence makes Finnick worriedly ask, "Sil?" He leans forward, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face, and whispers, "Hey, it was only a question. I'm not asking if you want to start _right now."_

Sil sighs a bit and chuckles, "Gracious, I should hope not." She lifts George higher up in her arms and Finnick quips a smile her way.

He kisses her cheek and says, "I'd like to start a family with you, one day. Seeing you with George is…weirdly arousing."

At this, Sil's eyes widen and she turns to Finnick with a shocked expression. Did he really just say…? She splutters, _"What?" _and he chuckles.

With a shrug, he murmurs lowly, "Mmm…the thought of our child growing within you…of making love to you and…" he trails off and smirks, eyes twinkling in such a dazzling light that Sil can't help but splutter even more.

She looks at him challengingly and says, "Gracious Finnick, you make it all sound so…" she trails off too, swallowing when he leans in and begins to press kisses over the arch of her neck.

As her breathing shallows out from his attention, Finnick hums and breathes, "Wonderful?"

Sil's breath hitches. She lifts one hand to grasp onto his collar as she dryly retorts, "Erotic."

The word makes him laugh. He pulls away but lingers close, grinning at her as he chuckles. It's such a lovely sound that she can't help but chuckle back, but there's something in her heart that shudders at the turn that this conversation has taken. Something that feels very much like fear.

It is natural to be afraid of the things you are unfamiliar with, of the changes that life throws at you. You can't always embrace them with open arms. Sometimes, you must tread more cautiously than that, and guard yourself against the tall waves and the crashing tempest of time. It's just that, right now, Sil has no idea how to do either of those things.

She also doesn't know how to tell Finnick that his dreams of starting a family with her are not as far off as he thinks.


	10. Come home safe to me

**Chapter Ten | I will send my love to guide you**

Sil doesn't know what triggers it – perhaps the stress that comes from her silence and the knowledge that she has to tell Finnick about her pregnancy soon – but that night her dreams are stricken with nightmares.

Clawing fingers and horrific screams; the dry desert landscape of her arena; Royce, her district partner, laying in the sand with his mouth open in silent terror as he feels his life slip from him. She dreams of things that have happened, and things that have not, but could have if she'd been less vindictive and more naïve. She dreams of dying, over and over again, in the harsh sun of the desert, utterly alone. It feels so realistic that she thinks she can even feel the grains of sand beneath her, and the blood that soaks through them.

Felix haunts the images too, and even though her conscious mind knows that he is dead, her terror increases exponentially. He laughs above her and drags her from the sand, hauling her lifeless body through the desert as the scene changes, and suddenly she's back in that room. The room in which he made her see things that weren't real, and feel things that still makes her skin crawl, when she allows herself to think back upon those moments. When he had desecrated both her body as well as the face of the man she loves, twisting her perception in the cruelest way and making her believe, with the help of those drugs, that it was Finnick doing all those things to her.

And then she dreams of a child.

It's strange, how abruptly her nightmare gives way to the brilliant sight of her would-be baby. The innocent thing reaches for her, cooing until she scoops him up and holds him close to her chest. Images of Felix and his torture fades in the wake of the beautiful laughter that the babe graces her with as it reaches up to touch her face with both hands. She can't look away from the small bundle. The child is so incredibly perfect that it holds every last dredge of her attention.

But – nightmares have a way of chilling a person to their bones, and suddenly Felix returns. The way he snatches the child from her arms is far worse than any other pain he had inflicted upon her. Sil reaches for her baby, arms outstretched as horror captures her face, but Felix fades away, and she can't get to him in time.

She wakes up with a heaving gasp and flies into a sitting position, shivering like a leaf in a hurricane as her eyes blindly search for what her dreams had taken from her. She is so lost to the erratic beating of her heart and the fright that shakes through her that she ends up throwing the sheets from her body and getting up. But the harsh action only ends up tangling her legs. Her ankle catches in the sheets, and she falls to the floor with a resounding groan of pain.

She's not sure what wakes her up better: the dull ache that spreads through her body at having fallen so inelegantly, or the way Finnick groggily reaches for the lamp and sits up with a concerned, "Sil?"

Cold reality captures her like a thundercloud. She curls up on herself, burying her face in her arm with a resounding sob. It's only then that she realizes she's crying. Fat tears roll over her cheeks. Inelegant, indeed.

There's a shuffling movement, a creak of the bed, and then suddenly Finnick is reaching for her, kneeling beside her on the floor and gently pulling her up. The light of the lone lamp dimly flickers through the room, alighting his worry in stark clarity. He takes one look at her and pulls her against him with a soothing hush, hands carefully weaving through her hair as he rocks her.

"Nightmare?" he asks, even though it's fairly obvious. Sil just shivers and clutches at him, pressing herself as close to his body as she can manage. He helps, dragging her tight against him and spreading his knees to bring her between them.

He kisses the side of her head. His hold is unyieldingly firm, and it quickly brings her back to reality. The intense protection that his embrace provides makes her feel safer than she can say. The dream begins to fade in wake of it, and after a few minutes, her tears do too.

Finnick carefully whispers, "Want to talk about it?" against her hair.

Sil swallows. She says only one word, but that one word sums up the source of her terror in a manner that is more effective than any length description.

"Felix."

His arms immediately tighten around her. The dull blaze of his own anger might have taken him off guard, once upon a time, but it feels entirely justifiable now. That man had done unspeakable things to her. The knowledge that he still haunts her dreamscapes does not bring him pleasure.

Instead of giving into his anger, though, Finnick pulls back to brush her tears away, and says, "He's dead. You're safe now. I've got you."

He whispers many things like that as he kisses her cheeks and eyelids and ensures that her tears are gone. Sil just sits there and lets him, overcome by the comfort that his presence brings. He truly is the best cure for her nightmares, few as they are these days.

"Let's go back to bed," he murmurs after a while. He goes to stand up, but Sil doesn't follow.

"I can't go back to sleep," she whispers. It's true. She's had enough nightmares to know how they work on her. She knows that the rest of her night is ruined for her. Sleep will not come, and she'll just toss and turn and remember her dreams instead. The horrors of them will return to her idle mind unless she finds something to do that will distract her from them. Back at the Cornelius Estate, she'd go down to the workroom, but the workroom that they've been setting up here in this cottage is still unfinished, and it's too early in the morning to cause a ruckus.

Finnick purses his lips thoughtfully, looking at her with a strange expression in his eyes. After a moment of this, he reaches down to help her stand, pulling her to her feet as he slowly says, "Well, I happen to know the best cure for nightmares, if you're interested."

The words do catch her interest. Sil looks up at him questionably – then sees the slight mischievous turn of his mouth and raises an eyebrow at him. She braces herself. For what, she doesn't know, but she does know that the look in his eyes can only mean one thing: he is about to take her off guard, and he's doubtlessly going to enjoy it.

"What is it?" she asks cautiously.

Finnick chuckles and starts to pull off his shirt. Sil's first reaction is an unsurprised roll of her eyes. Her second is a dry, "I'm not in the mood, darling."

He tosses his shirt onto the floor and sends her a mock-offended expression. Holding a hand over his heart, he dramatically says, "Not in the mood? How rude of you." Then, with a snort of laughter, he goes to strip himself of the rest of his clothes and clarifies, "As much as I enjoy having sex with you, Silver, I actually have something else in mind."

At this, she pauses, raising an eyebrow in confusion. She watches as Finnick kicks the remainder of his clothing to the side, then steps up to her to pull at her nightshirt. She steps back before he can wrangle it off of her though, frowning petulantly at him and asking, "What are you thinking?"

Finnick, her ever so mischievous husband, just laughs and gestures to the doors that open out to the ocean on the other side of their bedroom. He winks at her, and pulls her against him with one tug of her nightshirt.

"Skinny dipping, sugar," he says. "It always works."

Sil's mouth drops open in shock.

"Skinny dipping? Really? Are you sure this isn't just a ploy to get me naked?" she demands, but doesn't complain (too much) when he pulls her nightshirt up and off of her. Some part of her is curious of his methods. The wilder side of her heart that she's been exploring these last few months wants to throw caution to the wind, while the dignified parts of her scorns the audacity of the idea.

Finnick pauses for a moment, playfully eyes her bare form, and indulgently shrugs, "Well I _do_ like you naked, but this is for a greater cause."

She gives him a wry look and he laughs again, grasping onto her wrist and pulling her to the doors. He barely manages to open them before Sil is pulling him back and hissing, "But – people will see us!"

Finnick sends her a raised eyebrow and stubbornly replies, "It's three in the morning, Sil. No one will see us."

She splutters and falls silent. Until he manages to drag her halfway across the beach, of course.

"The water will be cold," she mumbles, her final excuse. An excuse that, like the last, is quickly disregarded by Finnick, who only snorts and doesn't deign to reply this time around.

He releases her wrist in favor of running headlong into the surf, arms spread wide open as he gives a little whoop. The water meets him halfway, enveloping his form almost immediately. Even though the moon is bright and full above them, illuminating the entire beach with lustrous pearlescent light, she can barely see him in the tumble of waves.

A little concerned, Sil steps closer, bare feet sinking into the sand as she searches the water for her wayward husband. She soon discovers that the water is in fact relatively warm tonight despite the season, and the goosebumps she feels are in fact a result of the moment itself and not the potential chill of the water.

And – what a moment it is, standing naked on the seaside, braced against the power of the ocean as it laps on the shore and tumbles over her feet. She feels, strangely, that she is about to enter another world. A reality made of salt and brine, that will cleanse her of all her misgivings.

"Finnick?" she calls, seeing his head breach the water a ways out.

He turns to her with a beaming smile and calls, "It's much warmer once you get in!"

She stares at him for a long moment, and then takes a breath and steps forward.

It's almost as if she's walking on shaky legs. She's not sure if it's her own hesitation or the buffeting waves that keel into her, displacing more than just her body. She feels lost in a sea of her own making, and it's only when Finnick swims back to her and reaches for her hand that she is found once more.

He pulls her into the ocean, and Sil bursts into wild, surprised laughter at the intensity of being fully drawn into the sea. Salt crests her lips and her hair. She surrenders to the pull of the waves and to the momentum of Finnick's body as he brackets her against him and lets the ocean take their souls.

"Hold onto me," he tells her, grinning broadly as he wraps his arms around her waist and sinks into the water. Sil laughs and obeys, twining herself about him like a sapling. Together they fall backwards, and she barely manages to draw in a breath before the water swallows them.

It's incredibly wondrous, she soon realizes as the waves part their bodies. She comes back up for air and floats in place as the water laps at her and the moonlight brims over it in a smattering, glimmering burst of white light. She remembers, once upon a time, of being afraid of this dark twist of the ocean. It's funny how it isn't fear that drives through her now, pumping in her veins with a vengeance that takes her breath away. No, she is not afraid. She feels only the addictive cadence of reckless abandonment as it overturns her heart and makes her body feel efflorescent.

Like children, they laugh and throw water at each other, swim and inhale the salty air, battle like foes and come back together in embraces that the waves orchestrate. By the time the moon hangs lower in the nighttime sky and the constellations have shifted just so from their placements far above them, they find themselves laying on the shore, half immersed in the water that rushes over their legs and then is dragged back into the sea moments after.

"Do you feel better?" Finnick asks her, turning his head to look at her as she lays on her back by his side. The moonlight illuminates her skin, making her appear as if she is glowing with ethereal light. Her blonde hair seems to blend into the sand beneath her head, strewn out in such a way that would have made her alter ego gasp with utter horror. In fact, this entire moment would have made Silver Lamprey Cornelius, fop of the Capitol, wrinkle her nose distastefully.

But not Sil.

He grins at her and lifts himself up onto an elbow, sinking into the sand with the momentum. He hovers over her and watches as she lazily stretches, arms over her head and contented smile burgeoning over her lips.

"Yes," she says simply, with a stark honesty that makes him chuckle.

He smirks and shrugs, "Like I said, skinny dipping cures everything." The way he sends her a suggestive leer makes it apparent that he does, in fact, mean _everything_.

She rolls her eyes playfully and pushes him back into the sand, rolling onto his body and settling herself atop his hips. Then, grappling with his hands, she pushes them over his head and leans down, purring, "What else does it cure, I wonder?"

He presses a smile back as he stares up at her and shifts his body to accommodate her weight, adjusting himself in the cushion of sand that holds him in place.

"…Should we find out?" he breathes, and shifts his hips again. This time, to make her fully aware of the desire he feels for her.

Sil exhales slowly. The smile she sends him then is a mixture of coy passion and intense happiness. It looks so immeasurably perfect in the gentle crease of moonlight that Finnick can't help but murmur her name and tilt his chin up. She understands the unspoken motive, and lowers her mouth to his to fulfill it.

She sinks into him like she's coming home, and he welcomes her with a warmth that turns her heart into a rocket bursting through clouds.

What wanton passion drives them! She feels nothing like herself, and yet utterly unique in the expression of her soul. She is singular in her possession of him, taking him deeply inside her with every thrust, grinding her hips down against his as the water laps at their ankles and legs. Finnick twists his hands from her grasp to hold onto her, flexing his fingers around her and pulling her down flush to his body. Then, bracketed against the sand, he lifts his hips to take her more solidly, allowing his passion to drive him into a senseless pursuit of their combined pleasure.

She moans against his neck, huddled over his form as bliss melts through her. Some vague, inexplicable center of her is somewhat galled at the thought of taking him like this, in the sand, where anyone might stumble upon them. And yet – the moment is far too beautiful to pass up, and she is far too gone to question her own sensibilities.

"Finnick," she whimpers, keening into him as he grips her and plummets them towards climax. They are almost animalistic in their movements, yet there is a gentle undertone that catches them, throwing them for a loop and yielding to their spirits like a fine-tempered song.

An arch catches her spine in its grip, throwing her body back as the waves of her pleasure steal her breath and thunder through her. Finnick watches from below, fingers digging into her skin as she unravels around him. Each moment of it is like a symphony that plays its own notes in accordance with the lilting gratification of release, and soon he is as immersed within it as she is.

With long, powerful strokes, he fills her, groaning in the sand as his passions reach breaking point and throws him over the ledge that he's been balancing on. Now, lost to the depths of it, he surrenders to the brutal tempest that shudders through him until, spent and exhausted, his head falls back into the sand and Sil lowers herself against his body with a heaving gasp.

It's strange, how deeply one can forget themselves to the overturning buffet of this desire. He barely feels like he's there at all, on this beach, beneath this moonlight – or if instead he is floating in some timeless sphere that is bereft of the intricacies of the human consciousness.

But those intricacies come back to him at full force when Sil turns her head, looks at him, and says three words that makes him flounder right where he lays.

"Finnick," she murmurs, breathless still from the intensity of their passion and looking perfectly immaculate with the moonlight bathing her skin and illuminating the satisfied expressiveness of her eyes. She stares at him for one long moment, and then quietly tells him, "…I'm pregnant."

And he – God, he just stares right back at her, eyes widening, body frozen on the sand warmed from their heat, until –

Sil lets out a squeal of surprise as he rolls her over, hovering above her figure with an almost wild look in his eyes. It's a look full of longing, full of love, full of everything she's ever hoped for, reflected right back at her.

The biggest grin she's ever seen splits over his face.

"Pregnant?" he repeats, voice wavering. His hand reaches out to splay over her abdomen, warm calloused fingers caressing skin. He looks down at her stomach as if he's imagining it swelling with his child, and at once, Sil feels a little silly at having been so nervous to tell him in the first place.

She smiles tentatively up at him, and he throws his head back with a laugh that makes her see stars, it's so beautiful.

"God I love you," he tells her, and leans down to kiss her solidly on the mouth.

And the sand, and the moon, and the waves all play out in the background of that love, until the sky begins to fade from dark to light, and the district begins to wake, and Finnick finally pulls her back to their little cottage on the shore. Their bodies are covered with sand and salt and sweat, but –

Their hearts are covered with a happiness so vast that there is no beginning and no end to it.


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

There is something indescribably poetic about doing something as simple as sitting in the sand, with the dark ocean stretched out for miles and the sky peppered with thousands of twinkling stars. With the warm press of Finnick's body at her back, Sil thinks she could stay out here forever amid the crashing sound of the waves and the endless glow of starlight.

"There's Andromeda," Finnick murmurs suddenly in her ear, pointing up to the heavens where a constellation of stars brightly shines. Sil leans back against his shoulder and studies the cluster of stars. She vaguely recalls learning about the constellations during the years of her education, but her memories of the myths and legends of the ancients have been washed away by her more recent pursuits.

"Andromeda's mother, Queen Cassiopeia, claimed herself to be the most beautiful woman alive – even more lovely than the sea nymphs. Poseidon was furious about her claims and demanded that she sacrifice her daughter as payment. So Cassiopeia chained Andromeda to a cliff by the ocean, and the kraken came up to claim her. I'm sure you remember the kraken, don't you?" He snickers at the memory.

Sil gives him a glowering look and sniffs, "Unfortunately."

He wraps his arms around her and kisses her cheek, smirking to himself as he recalls the ease of her fright.

She sighs at him and curiously wonders, "Well? You're telling a story, so finish it." Her voice is perfectly haughty, as if she doesn't really care if he continues the tale or not, but he knows better. She's too curious for her own good, sometimes.

Shifting a little to get more comfortable, Finnick shrugs, "Well, before the kraken could get to her, Perseus showed up and used the head of Medusa to kill the monster by turning it to stone. They say it's still down there, sunk to the bottommost corner of the sea."

Sil tucks her head into the crook of his neck and asks, "And what happened to Andromeda and Perseus?"

Finnick hums thoughtfully and humors her with a soft, "They fell in love."

The simple explanation makes Sil turn in his arms, facing him with a narrowed expression. "That's it? What happens after that?"

Finnick laughs, amused at the way she's become so enraptured in an ancient legend. With a helpless shrug, he asks, "Why does there have to be more to the story?"

Looking abruptly lost, Sil haltingly murmurs, "I don't know…happiness doesn't last forever. Sooner or later, troubles always pop up."

Suddenly he doesn't think she's referring to the legend anymore. With a frown, Finnick draws his fingers over her cheek, studying her face closely. He thinks over her words for a long moment before he slowly tells her, "I guess that's life. It's never easy, and there's always gonna be hard parts that makes you wonder if it's worth it." Then, smiling gently at her, he murmurs, "…Being with _you_ is worth it, sugar. Even though you're maddening most of the time, and you drive me insane."

Sil scoffs playfully at him, turning back to press her face against his shoulder as the crash of the ocean serenades them into silence. The quiet plays out around them for a moment, until…

"Why do you call me 'sugar'?" Sil asks, her voice tinged with the slightest tone of amused exasperation. The inquiry is rhetorical. She doesn't expect an answer and frankly, she doubts that he even has one to begin with. Does Finnick Odair ever have reasons for doing what he does?

Finnick, though, takes the question a bit more seriously than she means for him to. He pauses, puffing out his cheeks thoughtfully as he slowly muses, "Maybe I think you're sweet. Maybe I'm…addicted to you." He winks.

Sil rolls her eyes, not seeing the way he watches her with that strange, serious gaze. Her attention drifts back up to the night sky, where the stars burn with a freedom she used to only dream of possessing. How her world has changed.

She barely hears him when he murmurs, "Sugar is one of my favorite things. Maybe you are too." But she does.

Sil laughs and nudges him with her shoulder. "I'm married to a sappy romantic. I wish I'd known about this side of you sooner," she quietly bemoans, but her face breaks out into a pleased smile nonetheless.

The grin he sends her then makes her heart flutter like a wild animal in her chest.

"There's still so much you don't know about me, sugar," he drags out the word playfully and chuckles.

She takes his words as the challenge he probably intends them to be, considering how competitive he is, and responds with gentle reassurance, "Well, I've got the rest of my life to change that."

His grin widens into a beautifully hopeful expression that seems lovelier than all the stars put together. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, turns his head to press his lips against her hair, and whispers, "I like the sound of that."

Sil just snuggles closer and sighs, "Me too."

The rest of their lives? What a flawless set of words.

**The End**

We are finally closing off Sil and Finnick's story! I know a lot of you wanted me to get into more detail concerning them starting a family, but I just felt that it would have taken something away from the story if I went too far into their future. I will leave the rest up to your imagination. Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed both this story as well as The Sterling Nightingale!

Also, just a small disclaimer that should have gone in the first chapter: The chapter titles for The Seafarer's Wife come from the song _Sailor, Your Home is the Sea_, with some of my own changes to the wording so as to have it fit into this story better.

I hope to continue hearing from you all through the other stories I am working on! If not, though, I hope you all enjoyed Sil and Finnick's story.

To end their tale on the right note:

"_No story is a straight line. The geometry of a human life is too imperfect and complex, too distorted by the laughter of time and the bewildering intricacies of fate to admit the straight line into its system of laws." Pat Conroy_

Thank you for reading!

CrashingPetals


End file.
